


Chained

by rocknrolla



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Dubious Consent, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-12 06:28:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2099031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rocknrolla/pseuds/rocknrolla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been one year since Wu Yifan sold his last slave, and he isn't any closer to buying another one than he was that day. But could a trip to Qingdao to visit an old friend change his mind?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Qingdao

Wu Yifan sat in the window seat of a private train car. 

The car had enough space for four travelers. It was made up of two bench-type seats that sat opposite each other, long enough to seat two people apiece, and a wide window that spanned the wall between them. A small sliding door led out into the walkway of the train; occasionally, an attendant would slide the door open just enough to peek their head into the car and check on Yifan. The other three spots in the car were empty, unless one counted the book that sat unopened on the seat next to him, or his bag that took up the bench across from him.

Yifan had always travelled this way. It was easier to pay the extra money for a private car, whether he was travelling with slaves or by himself, than to deal with the din and confusion of coach cars. He wasn’t fond of squeezing himself and his belongings into the smaller spaces a coach car allotted him, and when he had companions, it ran the risk of them being seated separately. Not to mention that private cars also came with the luxury of not having to make small talk with strangers. 

Small talk was a thing that Yifan was seriously uninterested in making these days. He was more than content to sit by himself in his empty car, with the rhythmic rumble of the train in his ears and his eyes on the scenery that flitted past the window.

The sun was just beginning to set in the sky when the door of his car slid open, tugging Yifan out of his thoughts. He glanced over to the door, raising an eyebrow when he noticed the attendant standing just inside. 

“Mr. Wu,” she started, giving him a brief bow. “We’re ten minutes outside of Qingdao Central Station. Is there anything you need before departure?” 

Yifan took a moment to glance down at his cellphone. It was quarter to five, which meant he had just under and hour to get into Qingdao, get off the train, and get to the restaurant before Joonmyun would be there. A car would already be waiting for him outside of Qingdao Central, and from there he would go straight to Temple. If traffic wasn’t too terrible, he should have plenty of time to get there on time. 

“No thank you,” he answered, giving the attendant a small bow of his own. His brows furrowed, and then he held his hand up to stop her from leaving. “Unless… How’s the traffic in Qingdao, today?” he asked. 

The attendant glanced at the window. “We haven’t been informed of any accidents or construction that would hold up traffic today,” she said, giving him a smile. “Ah, but it is almost rush-hour. Perhaps allow a few extra minutes for that.” 

Yifan nodded, and the attendant gave him another short bow before slipping out of the train car again. 

The last ten minutes of the train ride passed rather quickly. The soft, country scenery started to blend into something harsher and more urban, fields and open skies making way for brick buildings and skyscrapers. Then, the sky disappeared altogether as the train raced into the underground tunnels. Suddenly instead of sunlight, only the sharp fluorescence of artificial lighting could be seen, the tunnels black around the train. It navigated its way through the twists and turns of the tunnels underneath Qingdao, until it finally lurched to a halt. 

A soft, muffled voice came over the train’s PA system.

“Thank you for traveling Intercity Express Railways; we are now stopped at Qingdao Central Station.”

Yifan took a moment to tuck his book back into his bag and pull his suit jacket over his shoulders, and then he stood up from his seat. The train ride had been long enough that his legs were stiff from sitting, and the act of standing up and stepping out into the walkway outside his train car felt like a stretch. With his bag slung over one shoulder, Yifan bypassed the other private cars as their passengers started to stir and their doors started to slide open, and ducked out of the main door of the train. 

Despite his dislike for small talk, it didn’t bother him much to walk through the crowds underneath the train station. No one was stopping to talk to him then; everyone else was just as eager to get to their destination as he was, and it was easy enough to follow the flow of people up the staircase leading to the main level. If it was possible, the main level was even more crowded than underground had been, teeming with passengers that crowded near bathrooms and schedule boards. Yifan weaved his way through them until he’d reached the main doors of the station, and then made his way out onto the street outside. 

He pulled in a breath of fresh, outside air – the first one he’d gotten since he’d boarded the train earlier that morning – and narrowed his eyes at the string of yellow taxis that lined the street. It only took him a moment to spot the one sleek, black car that broke the line up, and the driver that stood next to it, holding a white sign that read Wu Yifan in bold, black letters.

Yifan headed over to the car, giving the driver a bow as he approached.

“Mr. Wu?” the driver asked. 

“The one and only,” Yifan confirmed, stopping a few paces away from the driver. “But call me Yifan, please. And you are…”

“Mr. Tang,” the driver smiled. “Pleased to meet you,” he went on, moving to open the back door of the car.

“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Tang,” Yifan said. He stepped forward, when Mr. Tang gestured for him, and slid into the backseat of the car. He settled his bag on the seat next to him and buckled in, slipping his cell phone out of his pocket to thumb through a few new emails.

It only took Mr. Tang a few moments to skip around to the front of the car and get himself situated in the driver’s seat. Once he had, he glanced in the rearview mirror. “Mr. Kim said you’d be meeting at Temple Restaurant. Is there anywhere else you’d like to stop by beforehand?” he asked. 

Yifan’s eyes were trained on his phone as he answered, “I don’t think so. Straight to the restaurant will be fine.” 

“Very good,” Mr. Tang nodded. 

A moment later the car had pulled out of its spot parked next to the sidewalk and moved into the street. The train attendant had been right after all; there were no accidents or construction backing traffic up, and other than the usual rush hour jams here and there the drive was smooth sailing. Mr. Tang was blissfully focused on driving, and left Yifan to his own devices in the backseat. 

It was just before five-thirty when they pulled up in front of Temple. Yifan glanced up when he felt the car roll to a stop, and tucked his cell phone back into his pocket when he realized where they were. Mr. Tang hopped out of the driver’s seat again, and Yifan waited the split second it took him to come around to the backseat and pull the door open for him. 

“Anything I can do for you in the meantime, Mr. Wu?” the driver asked as Yifan climbed out from the backseat. 

“No, thank you,” Yifan shook his head. He straightened out his suit jacket once he was standing upright again, and gave Mr. Tang a brief bow. “I’ll give you a call when dinner’s over with.” Once Mr. Tang had headed back around to the driver’s side of the car, Yifan turned his attention towards the restaurant in front of him. 

Temple Restaurant was a traditionally styled building. It sat low and long, with smooth bamboo walls and a roof that curved sharply upward. The front doors were heavy, ornately carved wood, and as Yifan approached them they pushed open, revealing a short little doorman giving him a bow. Yifan nodded to him on his way in, and then headed to the host station just inside the entryway. 

The inside of Temple was just as traditional as the outside. The lighting was low, and the walls were painted a muted shade of beige, broken up here and there by abstract black and white paintings. The soft clinking of silverware against plates and general hum of conversation was a quiet background noise as Yifan approached the hostess. 

“Welcome to Temple,” she greeted him. “Reservation, please?”

“It should be under Kim, party of two,” he replied. 

The hostess glanced at her lists for a moment, and then turned her attention back to Yifan with a smile. “Right this way, please.” 

She came around the host station, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Yifan was following before she led him past the main dining room. She took him down a hallway of smaller, private areas, and finally into a room that held only one table. 

The surface of the table was covered by a pure white linen tablecloth, and two place settings had been set up on opposite sides of the table. There were two chairs, and as he got closer Yifan noticed that on the floor just to the side of each chair there was a small kneeling cushion. 

“Xiexie,” he said, letting the hostess pull one of the chairs out from the table just a bit before he sat down. 

The hostess assured him that a server would be in shortly before she disappeared back to her station, leaving Yifan alone in the room. It would be another few minutes before Joonmyun arrived, he knew; he was a busy man, and trying to corral a slave or two could add extra time to anyone’s schedule. Yifan didn’t mind, though. Just as the hostess had promised, the server was in within minutes to pour him tea and place a small bowl of dumplings on the table, and Yifan took his time glancing over the menu. 

Just as he’d expected, he only waited another five minutes before the hostess was back. Joonmyun trailed behind her, dressed in a dark blue suit tailored so well to his body that it could only have been custom made. Behind Joonmyun was someone else – someone slim and a little on the short side, with wide, round eyes and a mouth shaped like heart. Yifan only had to glance at him – catch a glimpse of the silver gleam of the collar around his neck – to recognize this was Joonmyun’s newest slave, and he turned his attention back to the other man as he stood up to greet him. 

“Joonmyun,” he smiled, greeting him with a cursory bow.

“It’s good to see you, Yifan,” Joonmyun replied, returning Yifan’s bow. Of course, that bow turned into a handshake, and the handshake turned into a brief hug. “How’ve you been? It feels like it’s been forever since I’ve seen you,” he said as he pulled back.

“That’s because it has been,” Yifan retorted dryly. It wasn’t really either one of their faults that they hadn’t been able to keep in touch very well. Joonmyun was still settling into his relocation from South Korea to China - the slave market was booming in Qingdao - and Yifan had his own affairs to take care of in Guangzhou. “Are you going to introduce us, or am I going to have to ask him his name myself?” he asked, raising one eyebrow curiously as he gestured towards the man standing just behind Joonmyun. 

“Ah! I almost forgot you two hadn’t met,” Joonmyun started. Yifan didn’t miss the way his friend’s smile grew just a bit wider as he glanced back to his slave. “This is Kyungsoo,” he said, stepping to the side so he wasn’t blocking the space between Yifan and the slave. “Kyungsoo, this is Yifan.”

Kyungsoo bowed first, and after a moment Yifan bent just a bit at the waist. Even in his position, with his eyes cast down towards the floor, Yifan could tell that the slave’s attention was still on him. Joonmyun must’ve had him for enough time to train him this far, at least. After another moment, Yifan stood up straight again, and smiled as Kyungsoo mirrored his action.

“It’s nice to meet you, sir,” the slave said. 

“It’s nice to meet you too, Kyungsoo,” Yifan replied. 

Once their exchange was over with, Kyungsoo’s eyes slid back over to Joonmyun. He’d had him long enough that Kyungsoo knew how to properly greet someone, but not much long than that, then. Joonmyun stepped back into the spot between them again, and Yifan let his eyes linger on Kyungsoo as they made their way back to the table. 

“You always were a bit on the flashy side, weren’t you?” he asked, sitting back down in his chair. 

“What do you mean?” Joonmyun asked, taking up his side of the table. He gestured towards the cushion next to his chair, and a moment later Kyungsoo was kneeling beside him, sitting back on his heels with his hands folded neatly in his lap. 

“Really?” Yifan said, the smile that crept across his lips more than a little amused. “What am I talking about?” he asked back, nodding towards Kyungsoo. Or more specifically, he nodded to Kyungsoo’s outfit. 

Slaves weren’t allowed to wear the same types of clothing as their masters, in places like Temple. While Joonmyun and Yifan wore suits, it was against the dress code for slaves to wear jackets or ties. There weren’t many masters who had an issue with that particular rule, though. In restaurants and other places where the wait staff did the work, any slave that was brought along was more for show than anything else. And when a slave was around for show, it was an excellent opportunity for a master to dress them up and brag. 

That night, Kyungsoo was dressed in a pair of black dress pants that hugged the slim curves of his hips and legs (and Yifan could only imagine that they showed off the slave’s ass, if he’d been able to see him from behind). He wore a white button-up over that, and over the shirt he wore two slim vests that were layered one over the other – a shiny, silk red vest, tucked underneath a more conservative, black vest. The first three buttons of the shirt had been left open, naturally drawing attention up towards his neck and towards the collar that circled it.

“Yah!” Joonmyun exclaimed. “He looks good in that outfit.”

Yifan clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “You keep dressing him up like that and you’re going to start getting offers,” he teased. 

Joonmyun growled over his menu at Yifan. “Why? You going to make one?” he asked. 

Yifan only laughed as their waiter returned to fill Joonmyun’s teacup and take their orders. Once the waiter had disappeared again, Yifan shook his head and took the set of chopsticks that were set next to his plate, using them to pluck a dumpling from the bowl in the middle of the table. “So how’s everything going in Qingdao?” he asked. 

“Really well,” Joonmyun said, taking a sip from his cup. “I was surprised at how few trainers there are in the area, all things considered.”

“Good trainers,” Yifan corrected him. 

“I guess that’s true,” Joonmyun agreed with a disgruntled look. In a city the size of Qingdao, there were slave trainers on every other block. The problem was that the ratio of good trainers to bad trainers was lopsided. 

“Don’t get too discouraged by it,” Yifan shrugged. “The only thing that counts is that you’re here, taking business away from the bad trainers. Business is going good, right?” he asked. 

“I have a waiting list already,” Joonmyun agreed. From the worried look his face took on, Yifan wasn’t so sure his friend was totally happy about that, though.

“That’s a good thing…. Right?” he asked. 

“It is,” Joonmyun nodded. “I mean… business is good. I have money flowing in, and I know that the work I’m doing with the slaves I take is good work. Happy slaves make happy owners, and happy owners make happy slaves. It’s the ones who’re waiting that I get worried about,” he admitted. 

Yifan swallowed another dumpling before he responded. “Worried that they’ll go to another trainer?” he asked after a moment.

“A bad trainer,” Joonmyun said. “If people have to wait too long with an unruly slave, they might get careless about what trainer they send them to. You know how that whole cycle works,” he sighed.

Yifan nodded. He did know how that cycle worked. People bought untrained slaves, and when the slaves didn’t behave, they took them to trainers. Not all trainers knew what they were doing, though, and when the slaves continued to misbehave the owners got frustrated. That was how even owners with the best of intentions could wind up mistreating and abusing their slaves. 

“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” Yifan said. “You’re only one man. You can only do so much work, and the work that you are doing is good.” 

“Thanks,” Joonmyun smiled. 

“Have you ever thought about taking on an apprentice?” Yifan asked. 

“It’s a possibility,” Joonmyun said. “Later, though. When I get things really settled here in Qingdao.” As he spoke, Joonmyun’s left hand reached out to rest on the shoulder of the slave kneeling next to him. Yifan didn’t think the gesture was particularly conscious; the way Joonmyun’s thumb slid along the back of Kyungsoo’s neck spoke of something deeper. It stirred Yifan’s curiosity, although he knew there were only so many questions he could ask before he started to sound rude. 

“Well, if you decide to take one I’m sure you’ll make an excellent instructor,” he said. He paused for a brief moment, letting his eyes wander back to the slave. “How long have you had him?”

Joonmyun perked up again at the mention of Kyungsoo. He brought his hand back to the table, but the stress was already starting to seep out of his expression. “I bought him just before I moved to Qingdao.”

“Oh my god,” Yifan balked. “Right before a move like that?”

“Oh yeah,” Joonmyun nodded, his smile amused. 

“Let me guess,” Yifan started, giving his friend a dry look. “He wasn’t trained.”

“After all these years, you should know me better than that, Yifan,” Joonmyun teased. “Of course he wasn’t trained.” 

“You’re insane,” Yifan shook his head. 

“It was an interesting few weeks, that’s for sure,” Joonmyun acquiesced. “But what would’ve been truly insane is if I’d left him behind.” 

“You’re such a sap,” Yifan said with a laugh. 

But he knew that sometimes, it really did happen like that. The same as love, and hate, and all the other myriad emotions that humans attached to each other, the desire to own a specific slave, no matter the situation at hand or the consequences it might pose, could be overwhelming. 

“What about you?” Joonmyun finally asked, nodding at the empty kneeling cushion next to Yifan’s chair. “How long has it been since you bought a slave?”

Yifan gave the empty cushion next to him a glance, and then popped another dumpling into his mouth. If he had to chew, it gave him a few extra moments to think of how he was going to respond.

He had known that eventually, this subject was going to come up. He and Joonmyun had been friends for too long for it not to. And it wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to his friend or share things with him, because he did. Joonmyun was one of his best friends, and what were friends for if not to talk to? Yifan just knew that they were very, very different people, when it came to this particular topic. It was a subject they had seemingly agreed to disagree on. After a moment he swallowed his dumpling and took in a deep breath, steeling himself for Joonmyun’s response. “Eleven months,” he said.

Joonmyun’s eyes went wide, then. “Almost a year?” he asked incredulously.

“Almost a year,” Yifan nodded. 

“Now I know you’re the one who’s insane,” Joonmyun shook his head. “How are you ever supposed to be a full-time slave trainer if you only buy one slave a year?” he asked.

Yifan gave a contradictory noise. “You know that’s not how I work,” he said. 

“Oh, I keep forgetting,” Joonmyun said, slouching back in his chair a little further. “Training is just your side gig. You’re a businessman,” he teased. 

“It’s more than just a side gig,” he protested. 

Joonmyun raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. “Are you sure about that?” he asked. 

“Positive,” Yifan assured him. 

“Then what’s with this whole nine-to-five thing?” 

“It’s not nine-to-five,” Yifan said, and even he could admit that he sounded more than a little bit petulant by then. It was hard not to, though, when they’d already had this exact same discussion so many times before. “It’s flex hours, and you already know that I don’t work as quickly as you do. I don’t sell slaves fast enough to make a decent living wage off it.” 

“Alright, alright,” Joonmyun ceded, holding his hands up in an appeasing gesture. But not even a moment later, his lips had curled up at the edges in the barest hint of a teasing smile. “Really, though? Flex hours?”

“Hey!” Yifan yelped. If they had been at any restaurant more casual than Temple, his napkin (or perhaps a dumpling or two) would’ve been launched across the table at Joonmyun in retaliation. As it was, though, he didn’t think the manager of the restaurant would appreciate cleaning up the remnants of a childish food fight in one of their private dining rooms. Yifan kept himself in check and shook his head at his friend. “You can never just leave me in peace, can you?” he smiled. 

“Never,” Joonmyun agreed. 

Their conversation paused for a moment when the waiter returned, towing a second worker behind them and both of them carrying trays laden with plates of food. It took both workers a few moments to set the table up, moving bowls of spiced noodles and plates of spare ribs and steamed buns from their trays to the tabletop. Once all the food had been transferred the waiters disappeared again, and for a few minutes there was silence as Yifan and Joonmyun grabbed their chopsticks and dug in.

When it picked up again, after they’d both had time to shove an inordinate amount of food in their mouth, their conversation flowed as easily as it always had. They moved from the subject of slaves to business, and then to Joonmyun’s experience with Qingdao, and to Yifan’s affairs in Guanzhou, and everything in between. At some point they had exchanged their teacups for bottles of beer, and it was only near the end of the meal – when their bowls of noodles had dwindled down to nothing but the flavored broth, and there were at least three empty beer bottles on each side of the table – that the subject of Yifan’s slave training came up again. 

Joonmyun had settled a hand at the back of Kyungsoo’s neck again, his eyes drowsy with good food and alcohol, when he asked, “When do you think you’ll buy another slave?”

Yifan tilted his head to the side, then. He was too full, too tired, and too tipsy to get especially offended over the question. “I’m not really sure,” he shrugged. 

“Aish,” Joonmyun shook his head. “Are you even looking?” 

“I’m looking,” Yifan assured him. He had been to every private auction in his local area in the past few months, and he’d visited most of the public auction houses at least once a week. “I just haven’t found anyone who really strikes me yet,” he admitted.

Joonmyun nodded, and a comfortable silence stretched between them for a long moment. “You should go to the auction houses here in Qingdao before you leave,” he said after a moment. “You never know. Different stock and all that.” 

Yifan was in Qingdao until the end of the week – partially because he’d wanted to visit Joonmyun and see how he was settling in, but also because he had a few business affairs to attend to. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t have time to stop by the auction houses, in between. Yifan wasn’t convinced that he’d find anyone worth buying, but Joonmyun was right. There wasn’t anything he had to lose just by looking. “Maybe I will,” he pondered. 

After that, they had their usual argument over who was paying for dinner. Joonmyun insisted that he pay, as Qingdao was his hometown now and he was the one hosting Yifan. Yifan contended it was his turn, since the last time they’d eaten together Joonmyun had paid too. In the end they agreed that Joonmyun would pay again this time, and that before the week was over they would eat together at least one more time so Yifan could pay. They finished up the last of their beers, Joonmyun settled the bill, and the host led them back to the heavy front doors. 

The sky had darkened to a light purple, in the time they’d been inside the restaurant, and the air was taking on the beginnings of a chill. Yifan slipped his cell phone out from his pocket, once they were on the sidewalk outside of Temple, busying himself with finding Mr. Tang’s number and not looking at what parts of his slave Joonmyun had his hands on. From the glimpses he was getting from the corner of his eyes, it appeared that somewhere in their exchange Kyungsoo had gotten his hands on Joonmyun’s cell phone, and he was the one texting their driver while Joonmyun’s hands were acquainting themselves with the finer aspects of his slave’s assets. 

It only took Yifan a few moments to find Mr. Tang’s number, and the conversation to let him know he was ready to be picked up was even shorter than that. All that was left to do was wait for him, and Yifan pulled his email up again, more for something to look at than because he was truly interested in it. His attention was pulled away a moment later, though, when he heard his name. 

“Yifan!” Joonmyun called out to him. He was standing just behind Kyungsoo, with an arm slung around the slave’s middle and his chin hooked over Kyungsoo’s shoulder. Yifan could see the beginnings of a small, shy smile on Kyungsoo’s lips, even as he averted his eyes from Yifan in what was probably enough embarrassment for himself and his master both. “Give me a call tomorrow, if you get any free time,” he said. 

“Are you sure you won’t be busy?” Yifan teased him, nodding towards his current position wrapped around his slave. 

“Oh, fuck off,” Joonmyun rolled his eyes, but there was more humor than venom underneath his words. A sleek, silver car pulled up to the curb then, and Kyungsoo pulled Joonmyun towards it while Joonmyun gave Yifan one last wave. 

It took the slave a moment to wrangle his master into the vehicle without them both toppling over, and once the door had slammed shut behind them the car pulled away. Yifan only had to wait another five minutes before Mr. Tang pulled up in the same spot, and he pulled up his daily schedule on his cell phone as he slid into the backseat of the car. 

His morning and early afternoon were almost completely booked with meetings, but his evening was free. On the one hand, he could’ve called up Joonmyun like his friend had requested, and spent another evening drinking beer and eating good food with him. But Joonmyun had gotten him curious, now. Perhaps instead, Yifan would go to one of the auction houses after all.

Because, Joonmyun wasn’t wrong, was he? Qingdao was a city that would have an entirely different stock of slaves than Guangzhou did. Who knew what he would find?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes: (1) This fic is unbeta'd. Any grammatical, syntax, or informational mistakes are mine, and constructive criticism is completely welcome in comments. 
> 
> (2) Obviously this is set in an AU society where slavery is still a common practice (although it could be argued that this is true in some parts of the real world today too). There are some things that I completely made up as part of the world-building of how society views and treats slaves, so if any of it doesn't fit in with your current worldview then that's why. 
> 
> (3) It's been a long, long time since I've posted any fic, and of course the one fic I get the guts to post is about a member who left the group. I'm not sure how much interest there's going to be in it, due to Kris's departure, but I figured I would put it out there and see what sort of response I get from it. If anyone is still interested in reading more chapters, I'll post!
> 
> (4) Suho/D.O is mostly a side pairing here. I wanted to tag for them but I didn't want it to seem like they were a major player in this particular fic, and I couldn't figure out how to tag a side pairing. Maybe in another fic? Who knows!


	2. Auction

It was after three o’clock in the afternoon the next day when Yifan finally stepped out of his last meeting of the day. He was in a high-rise building in Qingdao’s business district, and he’d been there since earlier that morning, sitting through one meeting after another. It wasn’t the world’s most interesting work, Yifan could admit; but when it came to numbers and dollar signs, investments and returns, he was good at what he did.

 

He’d texted Mr. Tang fifteen minutes before the end of the meeting, letting him know he’d be ready to leave shortly. By the time Yifan stepped out of front doors of the building, his briefcase in one hand and his suit jacket folded over his arm, Mr. Tang’s car was already parked next to the curb in front of the building. The driver was standing next to the car, leaning against the passenger side door. He sprang back into an upright stance once he noticed Yifan coming from the building, giving him a smile and a brief bow.

 

“Afternoon, Mr. Wu,” he greeted.

 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Tang,” Yifan nodded as he approached the car.

 

Mr. Tang pulled the door to the backseat open, once Yifan was close enough to slide into the car. Yifan set his briefcase down on the seat next to him as Mr. Tang pushed the door shut, and got himself buckled in and settled into his seat.

 

It took Mr. Tang a few moments to step around to the front of the car and duck into his own seat. “Busy day?” he asked as he started to pull his seatbelt on.

 

“Very busy,” Yifan agreed. “But not in a bad way.” Meetings weren’t his favorite things ever, but Yifan couldn’t say they exactly negatively affected him either. He hadn’t ever left a meeting with a pounding headache, loosening his tie in an attempt to relieve some of his stress, the way he’d seen others do.

 

“Very good,” Mr. Tang smiled. “Will you be meeting with Mr. Kim this evening?”

 

Yifan paused for a moment then, watching the traffic whirring past them on the road. “You know, maybe not,” he said, turning his attention towards the front seat. “Do you know of any good auction houses in the area?”

 

Mr. Tang met his eyes in the rearview mirror. Yifan didn’t need to clarify what sort of auction house he was talking about. No one asked for an auction house if they wanted to buy antiques, or had an interest in art. There was only one thing he could’ve been asking for, and if the driver had any sort of comment to make about the subject, he didn’t voice it. “A big house, or a smaller one?” he asked.

 

Yifan tilted his head to the side as he thought. A larger auction house would mean more variety, but it would also mean more chaos – more buyers milling around, more sellers displaying their stock, more auctioneers calling off sale prices. A smaller auction house often provided a more pleasant atmosphere for buying, but what it lacked in noise it also lacked in selection. “Maybe something in between,” he finally answered.

 

Mr. Tang nodded, and then they were pulling away from the curb and into the stream of traffic.

 

Yifan didn’t pay much attention to the turns they made or the streets they drove down. It was mid-afternoon, which meant the traffic was somewhere in between nonexistent and mildly irritating, and they hadn’t driven for more than twenty minutes or so before they pulled off the main road and into a parking lot in front a large, rectangular building. The buildings’ walls were made of long, drab sheets of metal, and a sign hung on the front wall, large enough to be read from the street.

 

_Qingdao Public Auction House #26_

 

Mr. Tang parked the car just in front of the building’s entrance, and made his usual trip around to pull the door open for Yifan. Yifan patted his pockets, making sure he had everything he would need for the next few hours; cell phone – _check_ – wallet – _check_ – keys to the hotel – _check –_ before he slid out of the backseat.

 

“Would you like me to wait here?” Mr. Tang asked.

 

“I may be awhile,” Yifan said, narrowing his eyes at the building ahead of him. “I’ll text you when I’m ready.”

 

“I’ll be on the lookout, then,” the driver nodded.

 

Yifan bid him farewell, and then turned towards the auction house.

 

It was difficult to ignore the visual aesthetic of the building. The metallic walls gave off the feel of a warehouse more than an auction, and he knew that what he found inside wouldn't be that much better. Yifan may not have ever been to this particular auction house before, but once you'd been to one public auction, you'd been to them all. The only thing that waited for him inside was poured cement flooring, florescent light hanging overhead, and more people in chains than out of them.

 

Public auction houses simply weren't up to par with the sorts of places Yifan was used to frequenting. There was no doorman waiting to open the door for him; he approached the heavy, steel entrance and pushed it open for himself, and when he stepped inside, there was no quiet atmosphere or ambience to greet him.

 

The inside of the auction house hit every single one of Yifan's senses all at once. There was no one sense that he could pinpoint as being stronger than the others; the smell was just as bad as the noise, and the noise was just as bad as the grime, and the grime was just as bad as the sight of it. There was simply too much of everything; too many conversations happening at the same time, and too many auctioneers trying to shout over each other, and too many slaves moving around in their chains and tethers. There were too many different people, in various states of dress and wash, in too small of a space. It all added up to a constant, steady cadence of noise and movement and scent that was almost overwhelming.

 

He stood just inside the doorway for a moment, orienting himself. Most auction houses were set up in the same general format, and this one didn’t seem to differ very much from the status quo. Whereas most types of stores would’ve had aisles displaying their products, the auction house simply had rows of stalls. Each stall held a different vendor, and each vendor had a varying number of slaves tethered to the stall. At each of the four corners of the auction house was a larger podium, where an auctioneer stood with a microphone. Turn by turn, each of the vendors brought their stock of slaves up to the podium for their attributes and prices to be called out and bid for.

 

Yifan started his journey through the auction house the same as he ever did. He picked one corner of the building and started there, slowly making his way through each vendor’s stall. He stood just far enough away from the vendors that they couldn’t talk to him and distract him from his assessment of their stock, and yet close enough that his eyes could linger over each slave, discerning what he could of their traits and demeanor from their appearance.

 

So many slavers – traders, trainers, and owners alike – seemed to think that a slave could be molded to fit into any sort of category.

 

Yifan knew better than that, of course. At the end of the day, slaves weren’t inanimate objects. They weren’t slabs of wood that could be sanded down and reshaped into a nice table, or pieces of cloth to be cut and sewn into new clothes. They were humans. And just like any other human, each slave was a unique person – already completely formed, with their own set of inherent traits and quirks that no amount of training could get rid of.

 

The trick to a good slave trainer wasn’t the method he used to train a slave, Yifan knew. It was the ability to judge a slave’s traits just by looking at him, and to know which type of work he would excel at.

 

Yifan liked to think that he’d cultivated exactly that type of skill, at this point in his career. He moved from one stall to the next, judging each slave in their stock and deciding which category they would fit into best.

 

Some slaves were big, and burly; they towered over their masters in height, and seemed to dwarf them with their musculature. The heaviest chains and irons were used to keep them contained, and their owners held on tight to the handles of the whips they used to keep them in line. Slaves like that were hard labor slaves, if the light in their eyes was docile. They would be content to build bridges or repair roads for the rest of their lives, as long as their master was fair to them.

 

If their eyes were more like fire, though, glinting at Yifan challengingly as he glanced over them, then they were fighting slaves. They could be trained in hundreds of different ways to kill a man, and put in the ring and made to fight each bloody, all the while earning their masters money from betting pools and winnings.

 

Other slaves were smaller in stature, although their bodies were still thick and broad with muscle. They were more suited for household work – learning such trades as electrical work and plumbing, able to do the handy work and repair jobs their masters were too busy to bother with. The smaller slaves in this category would do even lighter work, learning to keep their master’s floors spotless and their mirrors shined. It wouldn’t be the most interesting work on earth, but as long as someone didn’t try to turn them into something they weren’t – a labor slave who simply wasn’t strong enough to do the work, or god forbid, a pleasure slave – they’d lead happy lives.

 

And then some slaves were even smaller than that. Their bodies were slim, with the barest hint of muscle and fat clinging to their frames. They were the complete opposite of strong, and mere ropes bound their hands and ankles, all that was needed to keep them in place. But what they lacked in size, they made up for in versatility. This was the group where Yifan had found the most kitchen slaves keeping their masters’ pantries well-stocked, personal slaves acting as their masters’ secretaries and assistants, and caregivers helping with the task of child rearing or caring for older family members.

 

Perhaps the smallest category within that group of slighter, less built slaves were the ones Yifan had his eyes out for, and they were perhaps the most difficult ones to spot. Not just for their rarity, although they were scarce enough find. Physically speaking, a pleasure slave had the most demanding list of expectations to meet. They couldn’t simply be thin; they had to be lithe. Their limbs had to move with a sort of grace that was natural, although training would refine it. Their features had to be striking on their own, even before makeup had the chance to emphasize them. And the thing that made a truly good pleasure slave – the thing that made them more rare than their physical appeal – was their mind.

 

A pleasure slave had to enjoy what they did. They had to have passion for their physicality. They had to forget shame for their bodies, and for the pleasure they wrought with them. Because anything less was simply a different type of slave being raped.

 

The idea that rape could even occur to a slave was a completely different topic, though, and one that Yifan wasn’t keen to ponder over as he browsed through the auction. He kept his mind strictly to the task at hand, instead, taking note of the more potential stock he spotted along the way. In an auction house of this size, he wasn’t surprised to have a handful of striking individuals.

 

He’d passed by two young women, maybe seventeen or eighteen years old. One was tall – almost as tall as Yifan himself – with slim hips and lengthy legs that would’ve made any potential master drool. Her features had been sharp and angular, and the look in her eyes had been almost daring. Without saying a word she had seemed to challenge Yifan to come closer – to take just one more look, and see if he could resist her.

 

The other young woman was shorter and not quite as slim, but her face was dainty, almost like a doll, and her hair was shiny and smooth as it hung down her back. What she lacked in height, she had made up for in curves and eagerness. Her chest was full and her hips were wide, giving her figure a likeness to an hourglass, and when she smiled at Yifan could feel the warmth of it down to his toes.

 

There had been two young men as well, in similar states of height. One taller and slimmer, with eyes that beckoned Yifan closer, and the other one shorter and stockier, with the fullest set of lips he’d ever seen.

 

He’d spotted them. He’d taken note of them. He’d discerned that they would make excellent pleasure slaves, for some lucky master out there. And yet, Yifan hadn’t approached any of their handlers.

 

It wasn’t that any of the slaves he’d looked at had been ugly, or had some flaw that he thought would make them less valuable as slaves. It was just that, as beautiful as they were, there was nothing particularly spectacular about them either. They were a different stock of slaves than he would’ve found in Guangzhou, that much was true. But if all he’d been looking for were pretty faces and pliant bodies, he could’ve found multitudes of them back in his home city.

 

Yifan was after something different. It was something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, or anything he thought he could’ve described in words. All he knew was that each and everyone of the slaves he’d ever bought and trained had had it, in some form or fashion. It wasn’t ever the same, from one slave to the next, but it was there. It set them apart from the crowd in a way that anyone could see, and made the difference between a good slave and a priceless one.

 

He’d almost given up on finding anything of that caliber at Public Auction House Number Twenty-Six. He had made his way up and down the aisles of vendors, pausing now and then at one of the auction podiums to see which slaves were being bid on, and was almost back to the beginning of the building again. It wasn’t until he’d passed by all the commercial vendors, trying to catch his attention with a once-in-a-lifetime deal or a slave that he’d never find anywhere else, that he had to truly pause.

 

There was such a thing as a slave pawnshop, when it came to slaves. Usually owned by whichever auction house they were situated in, it was a place where an owner who was truly desperate to get rid of a slave could turn to. If he didn’t care about turning a profit on a slave, or what kind of care his slave was going to receive after the sale, an owner could sell just about any slave – good, bad, too young, too old, too skinny, too fat – to the auction house itself.

 

Yifan hadn’t ever found anything of very much value in pawn stalls before, but he’d never looked them over either. One was never sure where they were going to find a diamond in the rough, and as he glanced over the stock of slaves in Public Auction House Number Twenty-Six’s pawn stall, he almost missed him entirely.

 

The pawn stall had a mediocre stock of older, timeworn slaves – too tired from years of hard labor and housework to even bother tugging at the leather bonds that tethered them to the stall. The wrinkles in their faces were like trenches, and their eyes drooped from their weariness. Some of them would die here, under the harsh rule of the auction house’s handler. Others would be bought wholesale, to spend the last of their days doing some sort of light-duty work. Yifan glanced over them, knowing that he had no room for them at his home in Guangzhou, and had just been ready to turn and walk away when he heard a cough.

 

The cough itself wasn’t particularly interesting. There were plenty of slaves with allergies and head colds who’d coughed here and there during his trip through the house. All of those slaves had been standing up, though. Yifan heard the cough again, and narrowed his eyes as he listened to it. If his ears weren’t failing him, the sound seemed as though it was coming from the floor, and he just had to take a closer look then.

 

And what a most unusual sight he found.

 

The slave he saw there wasn’t old, like the other men and women tethered to the stall. If Yifan had to guess at his age, he would pin him somewhere in his late teens, or perhaps his early twenties. Despite his young age, though, he wasn’t standing with the other slaves. He wasn’t even kneeling, the way any proper slave would be. Instead, he was sitting, curled around himself near the corner of the stall.

 

His age and his location weren’t where the oddities stopped, either.

 

The slave’s stature was of a medium build, although Yifan could see the sharp protrusions of his shoulders and collarbones through his shirt. Perhaps he’d once had something of some muscles on his frame, but it was clear that a few months of meager meals had left him lacking in strength. Despite that, though, he wasn’t tethered with the soft leather bonds that his fellow slaves wore. Heavy chains – the ones usually reserved for larger, bulkier slaves, whose masters couldn’t easily overpower them – were wrapped over and over again around his wrists and ankles, each one then connected to a thick length of it that had been wrapped around his waist.

 

What in the world was such a small slave doing wrapped up in such heavy chains? Yifan wondered. Apparently he had stood there, his eyes narrowed on this peculiar person, for long enough that it seemed to have caught the slave’s attention. He gave another harsh cough and then glanced up, turning an almond-shaped set of eyes towards Yifan.

 

And for not the first time, Yifan was reminded of how very little he could put into words the thing it was he looked for in a slave. Because there it was, looking right at him, and he had no idea how to describe it. What word could he use to tell the sort of light that stared back at him then? It was more than the challenge he’d seen in the fighting slaves, and brighter than the curiousness he’d watched in the smaller ones. In the same moment it had scorched him, as though he’d stepped out of the auction house and into the driest, hottest desert on earth, and then it had chilled him, as though he’d fallen into an arctic ocean. With one glance, the slave had beckoned Yifan closer, and then warned him away.

 

It was a long few minutes before he could tear his eyes away from that slave. The young man had held his gaze the entire time – not deflecting his eyes to the floor, as a well-trained slave would, but staring straight back at Yifan. By the time Yifan shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts from his mind, the slave wasn’t the only person who’d noticed him staring. The handler seeing over the stall that day was standing at the mouth of the area, leaning against a post as he watched the exchange.

 

Well, it wasn’t the best way to start out bartering. The way he’d looked at the slave, there was no doubt that the handler knew Yifan wanted him. Yifan took a deep breath though, and stepped over to the man. This wasn’t his first rodeo.

 

“How much for that one?” he asked, nodding his head towards the slave still sitting in the corner.

 

“More than he’s worth,” the handler smirked at him. He must’ve had some form of tobacco tucked into the corner of his mouth. Yifan could tell from the way he worked his tongue in his mouth that he was readjusting it, and a moment later he was proved right when the handler tilted his head towards a bucket situated not far away and spat.

 

Yifan’s lip curled up the slightest bit. “How much?” he asked again.

 

“Starts out at thirty-seven thousand Yuan,” the handler answered. “If you don’t get any bidders.”

 

Yifan tilted his head then. Thirty-seven thousand Yuan was a steep price for a product that was already visibly damaged. After the sale price, the auction house’s fees, and Qingdao’s sales tax, there would still be more money to put into this slave. He would need new clothes, extensive training, and medical care, each of which would add more and more to the amount of money Yifan would sink into him, without a guaranteed return if he couldn’t manage to sell him afterward. “Stand him up,” he said.

 

The handler pulled a short, leather crop out of his belt. If it were at all possible, the slave’s eyes seemed to glow even hotter as he glared at the handler, and a moment later the crop hand landed across his back with a sharp _thwack!_

Yes. He would definitely need medical care, Yifan sighed.

 

“You heard the man,” the handler barked. “Up!” He landed another crack on the slave’s back, and that seemed to be enough to get him moving.

 

Yifan watched him carefully as he stood. Despite his cough and his thinness, he still moved with ease. There didn’t appear to be any broken bones or permanent disabilities, and when he stood up straight – his eyes once again boring straight into Yifan’s – he stood nearly six feet tall.

 

“May I?” Yifan asked, glancing briefly at the handler. Any potential buyer of a slave had the right to look at the entire product before they put any money down. He’d seen slavers strip potential stock completely naked in the middle of the auction house before, just to make sure they weren’t taking on any unforeseen issues.

 

“Go ahead,” the handler groused.

 

Yifan stepped closer to the slave, then. In an odd reversal of roles, he found himself struggling to keep his breaths even as he approached him. He was suddenly glad that only he could hear the thudding of his heart in his chest.

 

He brought one hand up – not touching the slave directly, but holding his hand near his mouth. “Open, please,” he asked gently.

 

The slave’s eyes narrowed at him, then. For a brief moment he pressed his lips tighter together, as though he meant not to open his mouth. Then, the handler behind him held up the crop, and the slave nearly growled as he let his jaw drop.

 

Yifan did his best to look inside in the poor lighting of the auction house. There were no missing teeth, no sores, and he couldn’t detect any obvious decay. The throat was concerning – bright red and inflamed, and clearly not very comfortable to swallow with – but that could’ve been due to his cough as much as something more sinister. After a moment, Yifan was satisfied with what he saw. “Thank you,” he said, tapping the underside of the slave’s chin to let him know to close his mouth again. “Turn, please,” he asked again.

 

Once again, the slave followed his direction reluctantly, only spurred on by the threat of the crop behind him. He turned himself so that his back was facing Yifan, his stance ramrod straight as his shirt was lifted up around his shoulders.

 

Yifan couldn’t hold back a _tsk,_ then. He wasn’t exactly sure how long this slave had been in the auction house’s care for, but it hadn’t been an easy time of it. His back was littered with the after-effects of his treatment; bruises in all different stages of healing and shades of color, from fresh purple-blue, to fading yellow-green; angry red welts, where the crop had landed just shy of breaking his skin; and then the long, thin lines of scabs where it had broken it.

 

It was nothing that wouldn’t heal with time, though. The spine was straight, Yifan couldn’t see any permanent scars, and with a few weeks of rest and care, the flat expanse would be as smooth as silk. He let the shirt fall down again then, careful that the fabric didn’t irritate any cuts and bruises on its way down.

 

“Tell me,” he started, turning his attention towards the handler once again. “Why was his last owner so hasty to sell?”

 

“Don’t know the whole story, myself,” the handler shrugged. “The way I hear it, the last guy tried to make himself a pleasure slave out of this one. Then he turned out to be a damn bitch of a slave.”

 

“The owner couldn’t break him?” Yifan asked.

 

“The slave refuses to break,” the handler corrected him. “Ain’t a one of us tried to lay a hand on him here, pleasure-wise, and he’s been nothing but trouble anyway. Made a run for it four times in the last two weeks,” he explained.

 

_Ah_ , Yifan thought to himself. That explained the chains.

 

“I tell you what,” he said, narrowing his eyes on the slave again. “I’ll give you forty thousand, if you take him off the auction and sell him to me directly.”

 

The handler’s eyes bulged out of his face at the offer. Even the line of tension in the slave’s shoulders, still turned away from him, seemed to knot up further. Thirty-seven thousand had been a steep price; to increase it even more was unheard of. Fortunately, Yifan knew that for the price he was going to fetch on this slave when he’d turned him around, forty thousand was going to look like pocket change.

 

The handler didn’t waste any time, then. He didn’t ask Yifan any questions, or make sure that he was certain of his purchase. He simply turned around to the small table at the back of the stall and started to draw up the paperwork.

 

Yifan waited patiently. Paperwork was quite possibly his least favorite part about the process of purchasing a slave, but it was necessary. While the handler was busy putting together everything that would need to be signed and filled out, Yifan slid his phone out of his pocket and typed out a short text message to Mr. Tang.

 

_‘Will be ready for pickup soon. Please be ready for one extra passenger.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \o/ I got some feedback! I was so happy to see that there were at least a few people out there enjoying this that I proof read and polished chapter two as much as possible, and managed to crank it out a little earlier than I thought I would. A few things!
> 
> (1) Again, this is unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine. Feel free to constructively critique as needed. 
> 
> (2) Thank you to everyone who read and enjoyed chapter one, and left me some feedback to let me know. You guys rock. Stick around and chapter three should be up soon!


	3. Genesis

After he signed the papers, and the new slave was his, there was a flurry of action.

 

The handler who’d sold him the slave was quick to shove a packet of paperwork – the slave’s pertinent history and medical information, Yifan knew – and the end of the chains that bound him into Yifan’s hands. Now that the sale was over, and neither Yifan nor the slave were his problem anymore, he turned his attention back to the grueling task of not doing much of anything as he watched over the other slaves in the stall.

 

As eager as the handler was to get rid of them, though, Yifan was just as eager to leave the auction house. If he’d felt grimy when he first walked into the building, he felt absolutely vile now. He wasn’t even sure if it was the aura of the auction house affecting him, just then, or if it had more to do with the amount of time he’d spent exposed to the handler’s particular brand of grease. What he _did_ know was that he was more than ready to escape the clamor and smell and grime of the building, and once he’d wrapped the end of his new slave’s chains around his hand a few times, he was quick to turn on his heel and head towards the front doors.

 

The slave seemed to be just as anxious to leave as Yifan was. Either that, or else he was just playing his cards safe with a brand new master. When Yifan tugged on the end of the chain, the slave followed after him without so much as a hesitating step. He was careful to stay just one step behind his new master as they made their way through the auction house, ensuring that no one would be confused about his status as being newly bought and no longer belonging within the building.

Yifan knew it would take a few minutes for the driver to get there, even after he’d texted him. That was okay, though. He was patient, and the few moments of quiet gave him a chance to observe his slave. Out of the corner of his eye he watched him, where he’d come to a stop as far away from his master as he could without coming off as rude.

 

The young man had lifted his nose in the air, his nostrils flaring as he took in what looked to be his first few breaths of fresh air since he’d gone into the auction – breathing deep enough to savor it, and yet not so deep to stir up his cough again. He squinted his eyes against the dim, orangey-pink rays of afternoon sunlight – still brighter than any of the lighting had been inside the auction house. And now that they were outside, without the backdrop of auctioneers and grimy floors and haggard old slaves to buffer his appearance, it was easier for Yifan to notice _exactly_ what sort of condition this slave was in.

 

It wasn’t just that he was thin, although he was certainly that. His skin was sallow in a way that spoke of meals that were too meager, spread too far apart. Underneath his eyes were deep circles, as though he had not gotten a fair night’s sleep lately. Any slave that came from a public auction house – especially one coming from their pawn stall – wouldn’t be expected to appear particularly put together or well taken care of, but this slave’s shirt and pants seemed particularly thin, as they hung off his bony frame, and the material was smeared with stains that Yifan wanted to assume were dirt and old dust.

 

The bruises continued, too. They peeked out from underneath the sleeves of his shirt, littering his skin here and there along the length of his arms. Yifan couldn’t see his legs underneath the material of his pants, but he had a feeling that if he looked, he would find more there, too. And now that they were outside, in much better lighting than the inside of the auction house had, he could see a wide, fading green swash across the slave’s cheek.

 

But beyond all of that – beyond his gaunt frame and his weary clothes, past the bruises on his skin and the circles under his eyes – there was something else. Maybe it was the brightness of his eyes, or something about the construction of his face altogether. Maybe it was nothing physical at all, but something about this slave’s spirit that had called out to him. Whatever it was, though, Yifan couldn’t shake the feeling that when he scrubbed away the grit and grime, and gave his skin and bones enough time to heal and put enough meals in his belly to fill out his frame, he was going to be left with a stunning human being.

 

He was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of a horn honking. Mr. Tang’s black car pulled up next to the sidewalk, barely rolling to a stop before the driver had hopped out.

 

“Afternoon, Mr. Wu,” he greeted, and it was hard to miss the way his eyes slid from Yifan over to the slave that stood next to him. Whatever he thought of him, it didn’t show on his face, and his attention didn’t stay there for very long. There was only a certain amount of time that was considered polite to stare at a slave, when a man’s attention should be focused on the slave owner instead. “I assume your visit was successful?” he asked.

 

“Very,” Yifan nodded.

 

Mr. Tang was quick to pull the backseat door open then, and once he had, Yifan ushered the slave into the car before climbing in after him. Mr. Tang shut the door, and while he ran back around to the driver’s seat Yifan did his best to get them both settled.

 

It took a bit of effort, to say the least. The chains that bound the slave in so many different places made it awkward for him to move, and Yifan could tell that as much slack as he was trying to give on the chain, it still wasn’t doing very much to help him. Probably nothing would, until they were back at the hotel and Yifan could unwrap the chains from around him altogether.

 

“To the hotel?” Mr. Tang asked.

 

The slave had finally settled. He didn’t look entirely comfortable, holding himself stiff as he leaned against the door, but it would have to do. Yifan finally leaned back in his own seat then, and turned his attention to the front of the car. “I’d like to make a stop at a pharmacy, if there’s one along the way,” he said. “And then yes, to the hotel.”

 

Mr. Tang nodded, and without further comment they had pulled away from the sidewalk.

 

The drive from Public Auction House Number Twenty-Six to the hotel where Yifan was staying took a little over half an hour, including their pit stop at a corner drug store along the way. Mr. Tang had pulled up next to the curb in front of the store, and urged Yifan to come back as quickly as he could. Not many people enjoyed being left alone with another man’s slave unattended; far too many lawsuits had come out of that kind of situation, and so Yifan hadn’t wasted any time. He ducked into the store just long enough to grab a pack of bottled water and a brown paper sack of other supplies before he was back in his spot in the backseat of the car.

 

Despite his history of running, and whatever other disobedience had earned him the bruises and welts along his back and arms, the slave was docile during the car ride. He simply sat in the same position he’d gotten himself into, letting out a wet cough now and then when he couldn’t hold it back and watching the scenery zoom past his window.

 

When they arrived at the hotel, Yifan told Mr. Tang to pull up in front of one of the hotel’s back doors, instead of dropping him off at the front as he usually did. It wasn’t that he was necessarily ashamed, to be walking into the hotel with a slave in the condition this one was in. It was just that the situation would’ve garnered them more attention than Yifan was willing to deal with just then, and the seldom-used rear entrance seemed like a much more inviting option. While he climbed back out of the car, pulling the slave behind him by the chain he’d wrapped around his hand once again, he had Mr. Tang carry the pack of water bottles and the paper bag in behind them.

 

The halls of the hotel were blissfully empty as they stepped inside, and then it was just a short elevator ride up to the seventh floor. Yifan lead them down to the doorway of room 704, pausing just long enough to slide his keycard into the lock before he pushed it open and stepped inside.

 

The room Yifan was staying in at the hotel wasn’t really one single room, as much as it was a small suite of rooms. When they first stepped into the door, they were immediately standing in a sort of sitting room. In the middle of this room was an area with a couch and several chairs settled around a coffee table, all situated in front of a large, flat-screen TV attached to the far wall. To one side of the room, there was a desk and chair; to the other side, there was a small dining table. The furniture and décor of the room was all modern, clean lines and shiny, polished surfaces. It was impersonal enough to be a hotel room, and yet comfortable enough to be a nice one.

 

While Yifan toed off his shoes next to the door and instructed Tao to do the same, Mr. Tang went to set his armful of goods down on the dining table. He was only inside the hotel room long enough to do that before he bowed to Yifan, and then took his leave.

 

Once the door clicked shut behind Mr. Tang, silence reigned over the room. For the first time since he’d bought him, Yifan was completely alone with his newest slave. He could only imagine what was going through the young man’s mind just then; were his thoughts swirling with the frenzy of a new master? Were his nerves on edge with anxiety? Or was he calm and collected, merely watching Yifan’s movements in an attempt to learn his patterns?

 

The gentle, metallic jingling of the slave’s chains moving as he shifted in his place pulled Yifan out of his thoughts. Against the backdrop of the clean, streamlined hotel room, the slave appeared even more out of place than he’d seemed on the sidewalk outside of the auction house. Yifan knew what their first order of business was going to be.

 

“This way,” he said. He still had the end of the slave’s chains wrapped around one hand, but instead of simply yanking him along, Yifan used his other hand to gesture towards a door on the left-hand side of the room.

 

The door opened up into a bathroom that was nearly as big as the main sitting room of the hotel suite. It was similarly styled with a modern theme, with a tub large enough to seat three or four people comfortably; there was a separate, glass shower stall that could fit just as many; and a long, sleek vanity equipped with double sinks. The toilet had a separate little room of its own, with a door and everything, and was out of sight when they first stepped in. And in addition to the usual elements of a bathroom, there was another, smaller dressing area to one side of the bathroom, with a vanity table and a few armchairs.

 

Yifan still had the thick packet of the slave’s information tucked under one arm, and once they made it into the bathroom he set it down on the counter. He turned his attention to the slave long enough to gently say, “Stay,” before he moved over to the tub. He fiddled with the faucet for a few minutes, until he had the water flowing at a comfortably hot temperature, and pulled the stopper on the drain. 

 

While the tub was filling up, Yifan stood up straight again and pulled his suit jacket off his shoulders. He folded it over and laid it on the countertop before unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves and starting to roll them up his arms. Once his sleeves were up to his elbows, he moved to stand just in front of the slave again, and took the end of his chains in hand.

 

The problem was that he wasn’t bound by several short pieces of chain. His wrists and ankles were all tied using the same long, tangled length of links, each limb bound just tight enough to look painful without being so tight that it cut off circulation. It all came together in a large knot that was held together by a padlock, and Yifan rifled through the packet of paperwork he’d been given until he found the page where a small key was taped down.

 

It was while he was trying to fit the key into the padlock to start the untangling process that Yifan first heard it.

 

His slave’s voice was raspy, although just then he couldn’t tell if that was its natural tone or if it was an effect of his swollen throat. His words had the strong tang of an uneducated upbringing, and yet they were still clear in their intent.

 

“I’m not going to let you fuck me.”

 

The key had finally slid into the lock then, and Yifan twisted it until he heard the _snick_ of it coming unlocked before he glanced up at the young man.

 

“I wasn’t going to try,” he informed him.

 

Yifan watched a fleeting moment of confusion wash over the slave’s face, all furrowed brows and wrinkled nose. As quickly as it had come, though, the slave had gotten himself back under control, pulling a carefully neutral expression over his face. “Good,” he snapped.

 

Yifan pulled the padlock free of the chains and tossed it onto the counter. “Usually when I find myself in the company of an unwashed, underfed young man, my first instinct isn’t to try to have sex with him. It isn’t really my style,” he explained, keeping his eyes on the chains that his fingers were trying to work loose.

 

The only response he got was a curt, “Oh.” And then silence stretched between them, broken only by the clank of metal as Yifan worked at the knot.

 

“What’s your name?” Yifan finally asked. He was making headway on the chains around the slave’s wrists, and he was pretty sure he was going to have it untangled within the next few minutes.

 

“Why don’t you just read it in the paperwork?” the slave retorted.

 

 _Bingo._ Yifan found the spot where most of the chains seemed to be knotted up, and started to slide the length through it as gently as he could, easing up when the slave in front of him let out a soft hiss of discomfort. “I’m going to,” he said. “But I’d like to hear it from you, too.”

 

At first, he almost wasn’t sure if the slave was going to answer him, the way silence reigned over them again. And then, just as he started to finally unravel the knots around his wrists, exposing the red, raw flesh underneath them, he heard it. “Zitao,” the slave said softly. “My name is Huang Zitao.”

 

“Zitao,” Yifan repeated back to him – testing the way the name rolled off his tongue.

 

“Most people just call me Tao, though. For short,” the slave clarified, moving his newly freed hands to rub at his sore wrists.

 

“Well, Tao,” Yifan said again, barely holding back a shiver at the name. He placed his hands over the slave’s for a moment, long enough to get him to stop rubbing at his irritated skin, before he moved onto the next set of knots around his waist. “I’m Wu Yifan. You may call me Sir, and when you earn it, you may call me Master. Is that much clear?” he asked, glancing up at the slave to assess his reaction to the demand.

 

For the briefest moment, he watched a flash of defiance flash across Tao’s eyes. It was gone just as quick as his confusion had been, replaced by something safer and more neutral. Tao nodded to him, and said, “Yes, Sir.”

 

He was smart, then. Perhaps not easy to break, but he was at least smart enough to pick his battles – especially with a brand new master.

 

“Good,” Yifan nodded. “Right now, all I’m going to do is wash you. Clear?”

 

Tao’s nose wrinkled up again then, although this time instead of confusion, it was distaste that seeped into his features. “I can wash myself,” he countered.

 

“I’m sure you can,” Yifan smirked. “But who owns who in this room?”

 

Tao’s sour expression only worsened, and Yifan felt a little bit bad about thinking it was cute. “You own me, Sir,” he answered.

 

“Very good,” Yifan smiled. At least this much seemed to be going well, so far. “Feel free to talk, if you want to. Or don’t talk, if you don’t want to,” he said offhandedly, and then focused his attention on the rest of the chains.

 

It took him a few more minutes to get the entire length of it untangled, and much as he’d expected, he found more raw, irritated skin around Tao’s waist and both his ankles, where the chains had sat just a little too tight against his skin. Once the whole chain had been undone, Yifan’s upper lip curled into something of a grimace as he tossed the whole thing into the trash bin. By then the bathtub had filled up with enough water, and he moved to turn off the taps before it started to overflow.

 

“Off,” he said, tugging at the hem of Tao’s shirt.

 

The slave gave him a hesitant look, then, and instead of making any sort of moves to pull the shirt off, he wound his arms tightly around his chest.

 

“Or do you plan to bathe with your clothes on?” Yifan asked, raising one eyebrow.

 

“Fine,” Tao answered. Slowly, he started to pull the shirt off himself, grimacing when the movements pulled at his bruised skin. A moment later he’d dropped the shirt to the ground, and as soon as the cloth hit the floor, Yifan plucked it up between his thumb and index finger and tossed it into the same bin the chain had gone into.

 

“Yah! What are you doing?” Tao asked, his eyes trained on the bin his shirt has just disappeared into. He wrapped his arms defensively around his bare torso, covering up as much of his own skin as he possibly could. “That’s my shirt!”

 

“I know it’s your shirt,” Yifan said. “And it’s disgusting. There would be no point in washing you if I was just going to put you back in the same dirty clothes again.”

 

“I could wash it,” Tao tried, eyeing the sink behind Yifan woefully.

 

“Nice try,” Yifan shook his head. “I’ll find something else for you to wear afterward. Now come on, these too,” he said, giving the waistband of Tao’s pants a tug.

 

Tao watched him with suspicious eyes, but after a few more moments of Yifan neither advancing on him nor backing away, he slowly started to unbutton his pants.

 

They slid down his legs easily enough, and the situation wasn’t far from what Yifan had predicted. Once his slave was completely bare in front of him, he could see the whole picture. Much like his back and arms, Zitao’s legs were too thin, littered with bruises in varying stages of healing, his skin marred by the bright red stripes from his handlers’ crops and whips. None of it was permanent, though, Yifan was relieved to find. They were all things that would heal with a few weeks of care.

 

The pants met the same fate the shirt had as he swept them up from the floor and into the trash bin, and Yifan gestured towards the tub. “In you go,” he said, heading for the stack of fresh washcloths and towels the housekeeping staff left on the countertop for him every morning.

 

Zitao eyed the tub with uncertainty. He stalled for as long as he could before he approached the edge, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Yifan was still busy gathering supplies before he carefully balanced himself on one leg and moved to dip one toe in the water.

 

 _“Shit,_ ” he hissed, yanking his foot back out of the water. “That’s hot.”

 

Yifan had grabbed a few towels and washcloths, as well as the small pitcher that had been meant to hold ice from the machine down the hall, and come to stand next to Tao in front of the tub. “Just get in slowly,” he said, setting his stack of supplies on the edge of the tub. “Trust me, it’s going to feel good after a few minutes.”

 

Tao narrowed his eyes up at his new master, then. “Is the water the _only_ thing that’s going to feel good after a few minutes?” he asked.

 

Yifan’s brows furrowed in confusion at the question, until it dawned on him what his slave was asking. “Yes,” he assured him, his eyes averting to the water. “I’m not going to try to fuck you in the bathtub, either. Will you please get in, now?”

 

Tao nodded, although his expression said he clearly didn’t trust Yifan to stick to that promise anytime soon. Orders were orders, though, and this time he stuck his whole foot in the water before he grimaced at the temperature. “Did you buy me with the intent to boil me alive?” he whined, extending one hand to brace himself against the wall as he lifted his other foot into the tub as well.

 

“You’re not going to boil, I promise,” Yifan rolled his eyes.

 

It took a few more minutes of Zitao grimacing and carping over the temperature before he’d eased himself down into the tub. Yifan moved to kneel next to the tub, and sat for a few moments to give his slave’s skin time to adjust to the warm water. 

 

There was a reason he wanted to be the one to wash Tao, of course. If he’d been a less experienced handler, perhaps he would’ve acquiesced and let the slave wash himself. But nothing Yifan did with his slaves in the beginning was by chance, and everything had been planned down to the last detail. And if there was one thing Tao needed to get used to, sooner rather than later, it was Yifan’s touch.

 

It was pretty clear how Tao felt about the idea of Yifan washing him – of being exposed to that much of his master’s touch – just then. He sat in the tub, dwarfed by the sheer size of it, with his arms crossed over his chest and his mouth pulled into a scowl. His eyes were trained on the water near his outstretched toes, and as Yifan moved to fill the little pitcher with bath water and tipped Tao’s head back to wet his hair with it, he held himself stiff as a board.

 

Yifan didn’t expect he would relax very much during this bath. Tao was too wound tight. He expected Yifan’s touch to turn violent - or erotic - too much, and the only way Yifan was going to change that was by his actions. Earning Tao’s trust was going to take time. Luckily, Yifan was a patient man.

 

“So, how old are you?” He asked conversationally. Yifan reached for the bottle of shampoo he’d brought from home then, and poured some of the liquid into his palm.

 

“The Zitao Times are right over there,” Tao answered stiffly, nodding towards the folder of paperwork on the countertop. “You can read all about it.”

 

“We went over this once before, remember?” Yifan said, rubbing the shampoo between his hands before he reached up to start lathering the slave’s hair. The locks were dark – stringy, and a little bit too long to really be considered pretty – but it wasn’t anything that a good wash and a haircut wouldn’t fix. “I want to hear it from you, first.”

 

There was another stretch of silence as Yifan started to work the shampoo into the slave’s hair, his fingers sliding through the dark locks. He was in Qingdao until the end of the week, and he couldn’t decide just then if he wanted to have Tao’s hair cut there, or just wait until he went back to Guangzhou and could get his regular hair stylist to do it. He trusted her more than anyone else with his slaves’ heads, but surely by now Joonmyun knew of a good hair stylist in the area to refer him to, right?

 

Finally, as his eyes slipped shut against the sensation of his master’s fingers in his hair, Tao answered him. “Nineteen.”

 

“Not even two decades old yet,” Yifan shook his head. He took his time with Tao’s hair, massaging the shampoo down to the roots and making sure he lathered every last strand of hair. Maybe he spent a few more minutes than were truly necessary, but Yifan honestly didn’t think anyone was going to blame him. The rigid line of Tao’s shoulders relaxed just slightly when Yifan’s fingers rubbed at his scalp, and in the line of training slaves, small victories were things to relish in.

 

Eventually, though, he couldn’t excuse it any longer. Yifan pulled his fingers away from Tao’s hair and dipped his hands in the tub water, rinsing shampoo off of them before he grabbed the pitcher again.

 

“Close your eyes,” he said, tipping Tao’s head back again to pour a pitcher full of bathwater over his hair. It took a few more pitchers of water to completely rinse all the shampoo from the slave’s hair, and once it was, Yifan spent a few minutes rubbing conditioner through the locks. He rinsed his hands again then, and grabbed the washcloth. “How long were you at the auction house for?” he asked, wetting the washcloth with bathwater before he poured a spot of shower gel on it.

 

“Three months,” Tao answered.

 

Yifan scrubbed the washcloth on itself long enough to make it lather, and then started at Tao’s shoulders. “How long had you been with your last master, before that?” he asked, working the washcloth over Tao’s skin in slow, gentle circles.

 

“Three weeks.”

 

“That’s not a very long time,” Yifan said, prodding his slave for more details as he started to slide the washcloth down the length of one arm.

 

All he got in response though, was a simple, “No. It’s not.”

 

Yifan didn’t push anymore than that. Eventually he would figure out what had happened. Whether he pieced it together from the information in the slave’s file, as Tao seemed so insistent for him to do, or heard the story from Tao himself was uncertain, but he knew that one way or another he would hear it. For now, he was content to keep washing Tao in quiet.

 

He was thorough in his task. He worked his way from Tao’s shoulders and arms down to the rest of his body in long, slow strokes of the washcloth, letting his fingertips glide over the slave’s soap-slick skin. He was careful of the slave’s back, where most of the welts and bruises from the auction handler’s crop were, and made sure not to irritate the raw skin around his wrists and ankles where the chains had sat. Whenever there was a grunt of pain or a hiss of discomfort, Yifan lightened his touch over the area until he could wash it without causing any tenderness.

 

He paid special attention to Tao’s hands. Yifan took them one at a time, cradling one long, slim hand between both of his own. He pressed his thumbs down along Tao’s palms and the backs of his hands, and worked his way down to each digit, finally scrubbing under his fingernails until he’d gotten every trace of grit and grime out from underneath them.

 

By the time he’d worked his way down Tao’s legs and had paid almost as much attention to his toes as he had to the slave’s fingers, Tao had not relaxed much more. He still held his limbs stiff at his sides, only moving when Yifan prompted him to, and only just enough to let him work. Yifan hadn’t expected much more than that, though. Once he’d scrubbed every inch of him, and made sure all the soap had been rinsed off Tao’s skin, he pushed the lever to let the tub start draining again.

 

Yifan spent a few more minutes filling the pitcher with fresh water from the faucet, while the old bathwater drained out of the tub, and pouring it over Tao’s hair to rinse the conditioner out. He worked his fingers through the locks again, until the water rinsed clear of any soap or conditioner, and then he set the pitcher to the side.

 

“Okay, torture’s over,” he said, sitting back on his heels. “Up you go.” Yifan stood up from his spot kneeling next to the tub and held a hand out for Tao.

 

If it had been any other situation – if Tao hadn’t been quite so bruised, perhaps, or if he’d had a bit more meat on his bones – Yifan almost would’ve thought it was cute, how hard he scowled at the hand. As wet as he was, with his hair as matted down to his head as it was, he almost resembled something more like a very wet, very grumpy cat than a slave. He reigned in his amusement, though, and a moment later a reluctant hand gripped his own as Tao started to haul himself upright again.

 

“Don’t do anything stupid, like try to run away or drown yourself in the bathtub,” Yifan started, handing the slave a towel. “I’m going to get you some clothes. Wait for me.”

 

Tao perked up at the mention of clothes. He latched onto the towel that was handed to him, wrapping the fluffy, white material over as much of his body as he could make it cover. Yifan left the slave to his own devices, figuring it was safe enough to let him dry himself off while he went to find him something to wear.

 

The only clothes he had just then were his own. Yifan hadn’t come to Qingdao expecting to buy a slave, and so he hadn’t exactly packed for two. Zitao was certainly tall enough to fill his clothes out length-wise, but Yifan had a feeling he was going to be swimming in the width of them. It was better than nothing, though, so he rifled through his suitcase until he’d found something suitable.

 

A few minutes later he returned to the bathroom, a white undershirt and a pair of navy blue sleep pants in one hand and his paper sack of pharmacy supplies in the other hand, to find Tao still standing in the middle of the tub. His hair was sticking out at all angles, as though he’d rubbed the towel through it a few times, and his skin was almost completely dry. The towel was back around his waist again, though, the ends tied into a knot that Yifan was almost certain would take a pair of scissors and the will of God to undo. He gave the slave a puzzled look, coming to stand closer to the tub.

 

“What are you doing?” he asked, holding out the set of clothes for Tao.

 

“Waiting for you, sir,” Tao answered him, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. He took the clothes that were offered to him as eagerly as he’d taken the towel, already unfolding the shirt before he’d finished speaking.

 

Yifan tilted his head, then. “What are you still doing in the tub?”

 

Tao had gotten the shirt unfolded by then, and had disappeared inside it. It took him a few moments of wiggling around, and then his head finally popped through the top of the shirt. “You told me not to drown myself in it,” he said, pulling his arms through the sleeves. “You never said to get out of it.”

 

“Ah,” Yifan nodded. And he supposed that he _hadn’t_ told Tao to get out of the tub. He couldn’t quite tell if Zitao was being facetious just yet, or if he was simply taking his orders as literally as possible. For now, though, Yifan figured he could give him the benefit of the doubt. “Well, feel free to come out of the tub, now.”

 

Tao stepped out of the tub and started to wiggle into the pants. He left the towel around his waist until he’d gotten the pants pulled up, and then finally pushed it to the floor.

 

While the slave got himself dressed, Yifan set his paper sack on the bathroom counter and started to pull everything out. There was a toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, and a small bottle of mouthwash; a small pot of face lotion, and a comb; a tube of antibiotic ointment, paper tape, and a few rolls of gauze. Once everything was out of the bag, lined up in a neat row along the counter, Yifan folded up the paper sack and turned to face Tao.

 

Just as he’d expected, his clothes seemed to swallow the slave up. They were too wide on him, the baggy material hanging limp off his slim frame. Somehow, though, it didn’t look as shabby on him as his clothes from the auction house had. Yifan wasn’t sure if it was because the clothes were clean, or if the material just looked more comfortable – or maybe it was something else entirely, something about the idea of his slave wearing _his_ clothes – but it didn’t look _bad._ After a moment he shook his head, and waved for Tao to come closer.

 

“Let me see your wrists,” he said.

 

Tao came closer to Yifan, careful to keep as much distance between them as possible as he extended his hands towards him.

 

Yifan clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, then. Tao had been chained at his ankles and waist too, but his wrists had taken most of the damage. Yifan could only imagine it was from weeks of the metal links rubbing against Tao’s wrists, every time he moved them or tried to use his hands. After a moment of examining the skin there, Yifan took the tube of antibiotic ointment and squeezed some out onto his fingers.

 

“Everything here is for you to use,” he said, nodding towards the items on the countertop as he started to spread the ointment across Tao’s raw skin.

 

Tao grimaced then, his nose scrunching up against the discomfort. He didn’t pull his hands away, though, holding them still in Yifan’s grip.

 

“I’m not going to give you specific rules for them,” he continued, keeping his attention focused on the wrists in his hands. “You’re allowed to use any of these things as many times a day as you need to, and you won’t get in trouble for using them. Okay?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Tao nodded.

 

It took Yifan a few more minutes to spread an even layer of the ointment across both of Tao’s wrists. He wrapped them both in a few layers of gauze, just tight enough to keep it in place, and taped the ends down. Once he was done, he wiped his hands off on the hand towel that was folded up at the edge of the counter and took a step back.

 

“You can brush your teeth now, if you want to. I’m going to get your bed ready for the night, so come out to the other room when you’re done,” he said.

 

“Yes, sir,” Tao nodded again, circling his fingers of one hand around his other gauze-wrapped wrist.

 

Yifan grabbed the folder of Tao’s information from the countertop and turned to leave the bathroom again, this time heading into the bedroom of the suite. He tossed the folder onto the bed and started to undo a few of the buttons on his shirt on his way over to the closet. The nice thing about paying an extraordinary amount of money for a hotel like this one was that in a pinch, Yifan could usually find almost anything he needed already stocked somewhere in the room. When he pulled open the closet door, he wasn’t disappointed; there were extra pillows and blankets already tucked into the drawers, and on the very top of them was one extra bedroll.

 

He grabbed the bedroll, two pillows, and two blankets, and then pushed the closet door shut again. He made his way over to the foot of the bed, and started to unravel the bedroll on the floor just in front of it.

 

It wasn’t that the actual bed in the room wasn’t big enough for two people to sleep in. It was plenty big enough, and if Yifan really wanted to, he probably could’ve fit three or four slaves in it with him. He was trying to convey a certain idea to Zitao, though, and forcing him to share a bed with his brand new master, on the first night he’d owned him, was going to send exactly the wrong type of message. Even though the bedroll was undoubtedly less comfortable than the mattress was, Yifan had a feeling Tao was going to sleep much easier there than he ever would’ve in the bed with him.

 

Once the bedroll was situated, with the pillows and blankets stacked on the floor to the side of it, Yifan stood back up and looked over the setup. It wasn’t perfect, but then again nothing was going to be until they were back at his home in Guangzhou. For tonight, and the next few nights they were in Qingdao, it would do.

 

When he came back into the main room of the suite, Tao was standing just behind the couch. His hair was still damp from the bath, and one arm was wound tightly around his chest while his other hand hovered over the couch – not quite touching it, as he mimed the motion of feeling the material.

 

Yifan leaned against the frame of the door to the bedroom, watching the slave for a moment. “You can touch it,” he said, breaking the silence in the room.

 

Tao startled at Yifan’s sudden presence, practically jumping out of his own skin despite himself. “What?” He asked, and his mouth was twisted into another scowl – Yifan could only presume at having been caught by surprise.

 

“The couch,” he said. “You can touch the couch, if you want to.”

 

Tao swallowed thickly and nodded, although he didn’t make any moves towards the furniture in question.

 

Yifan pushed himself up from the doorframe then, and stepped further into the main room. “Are you hungry?” he asked, moving towards the little dining table where Mr. Tang had set down the pack of water bottles. It took him a brief moment to work the outer plastic packaging open, and then slide two bottles out.

 

Tao hadn’t answered him by the time Yifan came over to stand next him. The slave was standing in the same spot just behind the couch, with his arm still wrapped around himself, giving Yifan a wary look. His wariness only seemed to increase as he was handed a water bottle.

 

Tao looked from Yifan down to the water bottle in his hand, and then back up to his new master. “I’m still not going to let you fuck me, even if I get to eat,” he said sharply.

 

Yifan could only sigh as he twisted the cap off his own water bottle. “I still wasn’t going to try,” he said, pausing to take a sip of his water. “Even if you eat with me. So… are you hungry?”

 

Tao’s expression faded from leeriness to something more like confusion, then. His next words were stilted, faltering with his uncertainty over how he was expected to answer this question. “If it pleases you… for me to be hungry, sir.”

 

“It isn’t a trick question,” Yifan shook his head. “You’re not going to get in trouble for answering it honestly.”

 

Tao still regarded him with the same amount of distrust as he had when he first heard the question, but he dropped the arm that had been wrapped around himself, so he could press a hand over his stomach. “I think…” he started, trailing off as his brows furrowed in concentration. “I think I’m hungry,” he finally answered.

 

“Okay,” Yifan nodded. “I’ll order something, then. Your bed is set up in there,” he said, gesturing towards the door to the bedroom. “Go get settled while I order.”

 

For all that Tao had been suspicious over Yifan’s supposed ulterior motives, and confused at his apparent lack of them, there was something to be said for the comfort of a direct order. It took away the opportunity to be suspicious, and left nothing for him to confused over. Yifan wanted him to go into the bedroom. What he would find there, and whether or not he would end up feeling suspicious anyway, was up for debate, but for now the situation was simple. Without so much as a pause, Tao turned away from the couch and started walking.

 

While Tao went into the bedroom, Yifan went over to the desk in the main room. He’d seen a room service menu tucked into a binder of other general hotel information there, and he took a minute to flip through it. If getting Tao to honestly admit whether or not he was hungry had been that much of an ordeal, Yifan had a feeling that asking him to pick out something he liked from the menu would’ve been an unusual form of torture. For now, he figured, the easiest thing to do would be to order something most everyone liked. The worst that could happen was that Tao wouldn’t like it – although Yifan had a feeling he would eat it anyway, even if that was the case.

 

It only took him a few minutes to call down to the kitchen and order enough food for two people for the night, and once the staff had assured him it would only be a short wait, Yifan set the phone back down on its received and followed Tao to the bedroom.

 

There really hadn’t been any room to confuse which bed was who’s in the room. He wasn’t surprised to find the slave kneeling in front of the bedroll on the floor, eyeing the stack of bedding next to it like he expected an angry dragon to fly out of it at any moment. Although, at least Yifan could say he was relieved to see that the cap was off of Tao’s water bottle, and there seemed to be a few sips worth of water missing.

 

“They’re yours,” he said, tapping the stack of bedding on his way towards the dresser in the room. A dragon did not fly out of it; a pillow merely tumbled off the top of the stack, although the way Tao jumped away from it could have fooled Yifan. “Get comfy,” he said.

 

Yifan never truly unpacked, whenever he had to travel away from home. His clothes and toiletries were still tucked neatly into the suitcase he’d brought, and the suitcase itself was simply sitting on top of the dresser. Once he was standing in front of it, he undressed quickly; undoing the last few buttons of his dress shirt and shrugging out of it left him in the same style of white undershirt he’d given to Tao, and after he’d unbuckled his belt and slipped his slacks off, Yifan pulled on a pair of soft, cotton sleep pants.

 

When he turned back around towards the bed, the pillow that had escaped the stack was resting at the head of the bedroll. Tao had moved from kneeling in front of the bedroll to sitting cross-legged in the middle of it, and there were a few more sips of water missing from the bottle.

 

“Do you have enough blankets?” Yifan asked, leaning back against the dresser for a moment.

 

“Yes, sir,” Tao nodded.

 

“Okay,” Yifan said. “It shouldn’t be too much longer before the food gets here.” He pushed himself up from the dresser again and stepped over to the edge of the bed to climb onto it.

 

The bed sat high enough on its frame that all Yifan could see from his position sitting near the headboard was the very top of Tao’s head. That head seemed to sit very, very still while Yifan searched around for the remote to the TV attached to the wall opposite the bed and turned it on. It was tuned into the same news station Yifan had been watching the last time he’d turned the TV off, and there was an anchorwoman reading off stock market values and the impact of a recent company merger. The volume was low enough that the news was mostly background noise, and after a few minutes of nothing happening, the head at the foot of the bed started to move.

 

Yifan flipped over the folder of Tao’s paperwork while he listened to the rustle of blankets moving around at the foot of the bed. Tao’s head moved this way and that while he got everything situated in just the way he wanted it, and after a few minutes the rustling noises stopped. Tao’s head disappeared altogether, and Yifan could only assume that he’d lain down.

 

He didn’t want to come off as creepy by leering off the edge of the bed to check on the slave, or have Tao feel like he couldn’t move without Yifan watching him. For now, he would have to simply assume he was right. Yifan flipped through the pages of Tao’s folder, skimming over them as he listened to the news.

 

It had been a long day, and he was starting to feel the stress of it. There was the beginning of a headache forming behind his eyes, and a weariness creeping into his shoulders that only a good night’s sleep was going to fix. At some point he would read through the folder thoroughly… but for tonight, he tapped the pages back into a neat stack and closed the folder around them again.

 

He let himself lay back against the headboard then, and his mind zone out on the TV. He had barely comprehended a word of the anchorwoman’s spiel by the time he heard a knock at the hotel room’s door.

 

Yifan climbed off the bed again, and had opened his mouth to let Tao know the food was there. Before he could get the first word out, though, he snapped it shut again.

 

Tao had, indeed, lain down. He was on his side, with one pillow tucked underneath his head and the other one held against his chest, his arms wound tightly around it. Both of the blankets Yifan had laid out for him were wrapped around Tao’s form, so that the only part of him uncovered was his head, and the water bottle was nowhere in sight – presumably tucked safely somewhere inside the blankets with him. Tao’s eyes were closed and his chest rose and fell in steady, even breaths under his blanket pile.

 

He was asleep.

 

Yifan sighed softly. He had worried that Tao wouldn’t sleep very well for their first few nights – that perhaps he would toss and turn on his bedroll with anxiety about his new surroundings, or out of fear that his new master would make advances on him in such a vulnerable state. Maybe he still did fear those things, Yifan thought to himself. Even in his sleep, Tao’s face wasn’t fully relaxed or peaceful. His lips were still pulled into the scowl Yifan had grown used to, and his brows were still tight with tension.

 

It had been a long day for both of them, then. Yifan could only imagine how long the past few months had been for Tao – and how many years before that? When was the last time he’d slept through a night without his master trying to creep into his bed alongside him, or another slave trying to steal his things or hurt him? Yifan shook his head at the thought.

 

There was another knock at the door then, and a muffled voice that called out, “Room service!” from the other side. Yifan pulled himself out of his thoughts and stepped as quietly out of the bedroom as he could.

 

He wouldn’t wake Tao up to eat tonight. He needed the rest more, and Yifan was fairly certain there was a special circle of hell for masters who woke their tired slaves. Tonight, he would eat on his own and let Tao’s sleep continue uninterrupted. There would be plenty of time to feed him later on.

 

And really, what was one more night without food, after the countless ones that had come before this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Yay! Chapter three is here! As always, this fic is unbeta'd and all mistakes are mine. Feel free to leave constructive criticism/critique. 
> 
> (2) Thank you to everyone who has left feedback so far. I can't explain how encouraging it is to know that people are enjoying this story. It definitely helps push me to keep writing, when I get stuck on certain parts or feel like giving up. 
> 
> (3) Stick around! Chapter four should be up and running shortly!


	4. Exodus

The next time Tao woke up, it was to the feeling of fingers in his hair.

 

He bypassed all the usual groggy stages of waking up. There was nothing slow or peaceful about the way he roused. He simply realized someone was touching him and twisted himself around, his eyes flying open as he shot straight up in his spot.

 

What he found wasn’t one of the auction house handlers looming over him, though. It wasn’t even one of the other slaves, pawing at him to see if he had anything valuable hidden under his blanket that they could take for themselves. It was…

 

It was his newest master, crouched down next to his bedroll.

 

“Good morning,” Yifan greeted him, pulling his hand back to himself now that Tao was awake. His hair was still damp from a shower, and in complete disarray as it stuck out at all different angles, and he was dressed in a pair of navy blue dress pants and a white button-down shirt still hanging open on his shoulders.

 

Tao couldn’t accurately say that what he felt then was _relief._ Yifan was still his master. He could still take what he wanted from Tao at his leisure, and Tao still hadn’t figured out exactly what it was he wanted in the first place – or what would happen to him if Yifan didn’t get it. It was easier to relax, though, when he was sitting on a bedroll in a hotel room empty of any other slaves, next to a master whose hands held neither a whip nor a crop.

 

After a moment, the tension started to bleed out of Tao’s limbs. And then he realized what Yifan had said. “Morning?” he asked, his eyes darting towards the windows. Just as Yifan had said, it was indeed morning; sunlight streamed in through the curtains, bright enough to leave Tao squinting if he looked at it for too long.

 

It was a little bit hard to believe. The last thing he remembered was laying down on his bedroll, keeping a careful ear out for Yifan’s movements. He had never been offered the use of pillows and blankets without something being expected in exchange for it, and usually he preferred to just sleep with nothing rather than do the sorts of things that would’ve earned him that sort of luxury. Yifan had asked for nothing, though. He had simply provided them, and so Tao knew that he would have to be alert in case his new master tried to worm his way into the bedroll with him sometime during the night.

 

He must have been more tired than he’d thought, though. As soon as his he got himself settled on the bedroll, he’d started to drift off. That had been sometime in the early evening, though, and here Yifan was telling him it was the morning already. How long had he slept for, anyway?

 

“Yes, morning,” Yifan chuckled. “Seven-thirty, actually.”

 

“What time did I fall asleep?” Tao asked.

 

“Around eight.”

 

So he’d slept from eight o’clock at night until seven-thirty in the morning. That was almost twelve hours – uninterrupted -- although it had felt more like five minutes. Despite having slept almost half a day, Tao was fairly certain that if he lay back down and closed his eyes, he would’ve been asleep again within a few minutes.

 

He started to bring his hand up to rub at his eyes, only to realize that halfway through there was a pressure at his wrist, keeping his arm from moving any further.

 

Tao glanced down at his wrist, and his eyes narrowed.

 

He was used to being restrained. Mostly that was his own damn fault, and he could own up to that fact. _‘Flight Risk’_ was the term they’d given him, and it was one he’d well and truly earned. There wasn’t a master in his history he hadn’t tried to run away from – multiple times, if he could manage it – and he didn’t plan to stop anytime soon.

 

It wasn’t rope that bound his wrist this time, though, or even chain. Tao would’ve recognized the scratchy texture of rope against his skin, or heard the clank of metal links moving over each other. What he found was a shiny metal wrist shackle, lined with a layer of leather that Tao had not realized they could make as soft as it was. The shackle fit snug enough around the layer of gauze on his wrist that he wasn’t even sure he could slip his hand through, even _if_ he broke his thumb again – and yet, it wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, when he wasn’t tugging at the restraint, he barely noticed it at all.

 

He followed the shackle with his eyes, until he noticed the link attached to one side of it. Threaded through that link was a length of sturdy wire rope, snaking its way from the shackle to a spot underneath the bed and behind one post of the footboard. Tao knew that if he looked, he would find another metal link bolted down to the floor there, for this exact purpose.

 

The restraint was a slap in the face. It was a reminder of exactly what he was, where his place in this food chain was, and yet… it was _pretty._

That was certainly a word he’d never been able to use for a restraint before. The shackle was almost more like a bracelet than an actual restraint. A bracelet that was doing a very efficient job of keeping him where he was supposed to be… but still.

 

Tao yanked at his wrist again, testing the wire rope. It didn’t give, even after he gave it a second, stronger pull, and he glanced back up to Yifan.

 

“You tied me up,” he said.

 

“Sorry about that,” Yifan said, and he had the decency to at least look like he felt a little bit bad about the restraint. “The hotel doors don’t lock on the inside. I didn’t want to risk you running while I was asleep,” he explained.

 

Tao’s eyes darted back down to the shackle-bracelet, and he pressed his lips into a thin line. He couldn’t exactly say he _blamed_ Yifan. If Tao had woken up in the middle of the night, unrestrained, and with his master sleeping peacefully… he couldn’t say he wouldn’t have tried running. The principle of it still stung, though, and so he decided he would stay angry at him for a few more minutes.

 

He glanced back to Yifan again, this time looking him up and down. He took in his master’s half-dressed state and raised an eyebrow. “Are you going out?” he asked.

 

“Unfortunately,” Yifan nodded. “I have to leave in half an hour. Do you want to wash up before I go?”

 

Tao shifted in his spot on the bedroll. It wasn’t like he’d gotten all that dirty in the span of the last twelve hours, but it would be nice to get up and stretch his legs for a little while. Plus, after nearly twelve hours of sleeping, he _really_ had to pee. He nodded yes, and a moment later Yifan had produced a key from his pocket.

 

There was a small padlock that attached the looped end of the wire rope to the link of Tao’s shackle. The padlock was just as aesthetically pleasing as the shackle itself – its metal surface gleaming, beautiful in its simplicity as well as its efficiency. Yifan slid the key into the padlock and once it had fallen open, detaching Zitao from his wire-rope tether, he took the lock and slipped it into his pocket.

 

“There’s breakfast on the table, too,” he said, leaning back so he could start to stand up again. Once he was upright, Yifan turned around and headed over to his suitcase on top of the dresser. “You should eat before I go.”

 

At the mention of food, Tao’s eyes went wide again. Yifan had ordered food the previous night as well, although he’d been asleep before it even arrived. There were so many different ways for that to be taken badly – for it to come off as though Tao were ungrateful, or rude – that his stomach lurched. Yifan had been decent to him so far, but there was no way he would let a slight like that one slip.

 

“Yes, sir,” he said, swallowing thickly. For now it seemed as though Yifan was keeping whatever punishment Tao would receive to himself. Tao certainly wasn’t going to bring it up before his master did, so he climbed off his bedroll and started to stand up.

 

It still felt strange to him, to move freely around a room. It had been long enough since any master had let Tao move from one room to another without being led by a rope or a chain that the idea felt altogether unfamiliar. He moved carefully around the peripheral of the bedroom, glancing over his shoulder every few feet to see where Yifan was, until he’d he passed through the doorway. Once he was in the main room, no longer in the same room as his master, Tao’s stance relaxed. He walked into the bathroom with an easy gait - although his feet were still careful to land lightly wherever they stepped.

 

Once he made it into the bathroom, it took Tao a few minutes of searching to discover the toilet. He spent a few moments standing there, trying to fathom why anyone would’ve thought to put a toilet in a little closet by itself. But then, the urge to actually use that toilet overtook his curiosity. He finished his business there and moved over to the sink to wash up.

 

Everything Yifan had given him last night – his toothbrush and toothpaste, his comb, his mouthwash and floss – were all still sitting on the countertop, in the exact spots Tao had left them in. He hesitated for a brief moment before reaching over to the stack of linen on the counter to take a washcloth. Yifan had asked if he wanted to wash up. He hadn’t specifically told Tao to take a washcloth – but surely washing up meant using a washcloth, right? Tao hoped so. If it didn’t, and he was punished for using something he hadn’t been told to touch, he would know to listen more carefully the next time his master told him to do something. He turned the faucet on and let the water warm up for a moment before leaning over the sink to wash his face.

 

He washed and dried his face, and when he was done he folded the washcloth and hand towel he’d used neatly before hanging them on the towel rack. Surely he would get points for neatness, right? He thought he should get points for that. Tao spent a few minutes brushing his teeth then, rinsing with the mouthwash he’d been given when that was done, and then he moved onto the little pot of face lotion. He picked it up and squinted at it for a moment, before bringing his eyes up to his own reflection.

 

Did his face need lotion? What even constituted a face that needed lotion? Did only people with dry skin use it, or did all people moisturize their face regularly? He wasn’t sure. Looking closely at himself, he decided that his face needed _something._ He wasn’t sure if lotion would do the magic trick, but it couldn’t hurt, right? Tao unscrewed the cap off the pot, and dipped his fingers into the substance inside.

 

He smeared the lotion across his cheeks and rubbed it into his forehead. He was careful as he dabbed it along the dark circles underneath his eyes, and then swiped it along his nose and chin. It took Tao a few minutes of working the lotion into his skin to get it all to disappear, and then he wrinkled his nose at himself in the mirror.

 

Well. It certainly hadn’t worked any magic. He was still too skinny, and his hair was still too limp, and he still wouldn’t consider himself to be very good-looking. His skin was a little bit less dull now, though, and Tao guessed that would have to do. He nodded at himself in the mirror, and then turned to walk out of the bathroom.

 

When he stepped into the main room of the hotel suite again, Yifan was already sitting at the table. He had finished getting dressed. At least, his shirt was buttoned up and tucked into his pants, and the jacket that matched his pants was folded over the back of his chair. There was a laptop open in front of him, and a tray of room service on the table next to it. Tao hesitated in the doorway between the two rooms, until Yifan seemed to notice his presence in the room and glanced up.

 

“All done?” he asked.

 

Tao nodded.

 

“Come here, then,” Yifan said, waving him closer.

 

Tao stepped through the room then, just as carefully as he’d left the bedroom. If he wanted to, right then, he could’ve ran. He could’ve walked right out of the hotel room door and down to the sidewalk below. But…

 

Where would he be, then? He had nothing. He had no money, and nowhere to go. He was wearing pajamas, and he had a shackle attached to his wrist, and no one in their right mind would’ve mistaken him for anything other than a runaway slave. Someone inevitably would’ve picked him up and brought him to the police station. If they managed to find out who he belonged to, he would end up right back with Yifan again, where he would no doubt be punished. If they couldn’t, he would just be put on auction again.

 

No. This wasn’t the right time. If he was going to succeed this time, he needed to gather more supplies and plan this more carefully.

 

Tao gave the door nothing more than a cursory glance on his way over to the table. Yifan gestured to the floor just next to his chair, and Tao clambered down to his knees there.

 

Yifan clicked his tongue. “A bit less like a horse, next time,” he chided, before taking a bowl and a spoon and handing them to Tao.

 

“I’m not like a horse,” Tao snapped, taking the bowel and spoon with both hands.

 

He could’ve cried when he realized what was inside.

 

It wasn’t table scraps. It wasn’t yesterday’s cold leftovers. It was actual, freshly-prepared, piping hot breakfast - an entire bowl full of congee, with two strips of youtiao on the side. He hadn’t even tasted it yet, and Tao’s mouth was already watering with how delicious it was going to be on his tongue.

 

“How… how much of it can I have?” he asked quietly. Yifan had been so nice to him so far… but he wouldn’t let Tao have all of this, would he? Not after Tao had slighted him so badly the previous night. Surely he was only meant to eat part of this, or perhaps none of it at all – this was just some sort of exercise to show Zitao how offers of food were supposed to be treated.

 

“As much of it as you want,” Yifan shrugged.

 

Tao swallowed thickly, staring down into his bowl of breakfast.

 

“If I eat it,” he started cautiously, “What will I have to do?”

 

“Nothing,” Yifan said offhandedly, his attention focused more on whatever was on his laptop screen than the slave kneeling at his side.

 

There was a part of Tao, and it was no small part, that was still suspicious. Perhaps Yifan was only telling him that, and he would wait for Tao to get a few bites into the meal before he would take it away from him again. Perhaps he would let Tao eat the whole bowl, and then tell him that breakfast wasn’t the only thing he could shove into his mouth. Perhaps…

 

His mind was racing with all the ways this could be wrong when he felt gentle, warm pressure just underneath his chin. Yifan’s fingers were there, tilting his face up to look at him.

 

“Eat,” He said simply.

 

That was all. There were no explanations. He didn’t elaborate. But he hadn’t needed to. One word was all it took to give a direct order, and Tao was not bold enough yet to disobey one. A moment later the slave had picked up spoon and shoveled a generous mouthful of hot congee into his mouth.

 

It almost tasted too good. The congee was smooth and creamy on his tongue, spiced just enough to give it a deliciously salty taste without being overwhelming. Tao couldn’t hold back a soft moan as he rolled that first bite around in his mouth, letting his tongue soak up every last ounce of flavor and texture it could offer him.

 

The auction house had provided its slaves with one meal a day, and it had always been a bowl of thin, watery soup. Tao had frequently wondered if they got the broth for the soup from one of the handlers’ used washing up water, or perhaps boiled a few rags that needed cleaning along with it. More often than not, it had just been safer not to eat it. He had spent the last three months with that soup being his only option for food, and years before that with masters who fed him leftovers or table scraps when they felt generous, and nothing when they didn’t.

 

At first, hunger had been his constant companion. It had been an ever-present ache in his belly, always protesting to him about how empty it was. Meals had always come too infrequently, and consisted of too little food to ever truly sate his growling, complaining stomach. It had gone on like that for years, sometimes doubling him over with how hungry he was, how intensely he wanted to put things into his mouth and chew them and swallow.

 

And then one day, it had stopped.

 

Tao had no idea what had happened. He didn’t know if it was some strange, physiological response to being hungry for too long, or if his mind had simply gotten tired of listening to his poor stomach. One day, he simply realized it had been awhile since he’d felt the familiar pang of being hungry.

 

After that day, food had been less of a struggle. When it was available, and safe to eat, and nothing was expected from Tao in exchange for eating it, he ate. When it wasn’t available, or it wasn’t edible, or there were strings attached, he didn’t eat. He had gotten skinnier then, and found out that human bodies could go so much longer without anything to eat than he’d originally thought.

 

Even after all of that, though – even after his stomach had forgotten how to feel hungry, and his brain had forgotten to remind him quite so often that he needed to eat – his tongue had never forgotten how to taste. After the first bite of congee had hit his mouth, sending his tongue into an overdrive of tastes he’d forgotten even existed, Tao attacked his bowl with vigor.

 

The entire bowl was gone within minutes, although he’d savored each and every bite he shoveled in. Once the congee disappeared, Tao tore into the youtiao, using the ends of the fried strips to sop up the last remaining traces of rice in the bowl.

 

His spoon clattered into his empty bowl, and Tao let his eyes dart up towards Yifan for a split second. If his master was annoyed at how quickly he’d eaten, or how much noise he’d made while doing it, it didn’t show on his face. In fact, he looked… amused? Maybe? Tao wasn’t quite sure what the expression on Yifan’s face meant, but it didn’t look like a bad one. He bit down on his lower lip uncertainly, and held the empty up for his master to take.

 

“Are you still hungry?” Yifan asked, taking the bowl and setting it back on the tray. Before he left, he would have one of the hotel staff come back to take their dishes away.

 

Tao’s brows furrowed again. He was unsure of both the actual answer to that question, and Yifan’s motives for asking it. _Was_ he still hungry? His stomach kind of hurt now, but whether that was from eating too fast or from months without an actual meal, he wasn’t sure. “I…” he started, rubbing at his stomach through the material of Yifan’s shirt. “I don’t know,” he shook his head.

 

And then, before he could do anything to stop it, he’d let out a burp that was loud enough to have him slapping both of his hands over his mouth, glancing nervously towards Yifan.

 

Yifan only chuckled. “Here,” he said, grabbing a smaller bowl of mixed fruit and a carton of soy milk – the single-serving kind, that you had to fold back on itself to open up – and handing them to Tao. “Eat this. Anymore than that and you’ll give yourself a belly ache.”

 

Tao drank the milk, and ate the fruit Yifan had given him. The fruit was crunchy and sweet, which was a stark contrast to the warm, creamy flavor of the congee. By the time he’d finished off the bowl, he was starting to understand what Yifan meant by giving himself a belly ache. He wasn’t sure it was a feat he’d ever accomplished before, but his stomach was quickly rolling past the point of being full and into something more like bloated. He gave a small groan as he handed back the empty bowl and carton.

 

By then, Yifan had finished up whatever he was doing on his laptop and closed it. Tao wasn’t sure exactly how much time had passed, but he knew it must’ve been getting close to when his master needed to leave. He was almost sort of glad for it, and not for the usual reasons. It wasn’t so much that he felt nervous around Yifan this time, although his nerves were certainly still on edge; he was just so damn _tired._ Between the grogginess he’d been carrying ever since Yifan had woken him up, and the food sitting heavy in his belly, Tao could feel his eyes getting heavy. He brought a hand up to his mouth again, yawning into it as quietly as he could.

 

“Come on,” Yifan said, running his fingers through Tao’s hair before he stood up from his seat. “You look like you could use a morning nap.”

 

Tao just nodded and stood up when Yifan gestured for him. He let Yifan lead him back into the bedroom and sat back down on his bedroll. Yifan barely had the chance to reattach Tao’s shackle to its tether before the slave was leaning towards his pillows, and he shook his head as he pulled the blankets up over the slave.

 

“Sleep well,” he said, unsure of how much Tao was actually comprehending. Tao made a soft noise in response, but it could’ve been him falling asleep just as much as it could’ve been a reply. “I’ll be back in a few hours to check on you.”

 

If he could’ve, Yifan might have stayed where he was for a few more minutes. Crouched next to Tao’s bedroll like he was, he had a perfect angle of his slave’s sleeping face. Tao’s expression still wasn’t completely relaxed. Tension still pulled at the corners of his lips and the furrow of his brow even then, and yet he looked less tense just then than he ever had while awake. As it was, though, Yifan had a meeting to get to. He hauled himself back up with a sigh, moving through the rooms of the hotel suite to finish getting himself ready.

 

Before he left, he made one last pit stop in the bedroom. He set two more water bottles down on the floor next to Tao’s bedroll, and after a quick moment of deliberation, set the TV remote next to them. A bored slave was never a good situation, and it _would_ be a few hours before he had the chance to return.

 

Once he was satisfied that he was leaving his slave in the best set of circumstances he could, Yifan grabbed his cell phone and wallet from the nightstand and slipped out of the suite.

 

**********

Yifan spent the next five hours of his life going from one meeting to the next. The work wasn’t easy, but that morning he was almost glad for it; the challenge kept his mind grounded in numbers and figures, and left him no chance to worry about the slave he’d left behind.

It was early afternoon before he had a small break between meetings for lunch. Instead of finding a quiet spot at a coffee shop or cafe to sit down with his laptop and continue working, as he usually did, Yifan called Mr. Tang to pick him up. He had the driver take him back to the hotel, where he ducked into his suite long enough untether his slave from the bedroom floor for a few minutes.

Tao was still sleeping again, when Yifan came into the room. He almost would’ve worried about how much the slave seemed to be sleeping, if it weren’t for the fact that he wasn’t sure when the last time Tao had gotten a good nights’ sleep was. It would probably take a few more days of sleeping, and then maybe a few weeks of napping throughout the day after that, for him to really get his energy back. Tao startled awake just as suddenly then as he had earlier in the morning, and Yifan kneeled next to him for a few minutes until he’d soothed him back down to his normal state.

Once his shackle had been unlocked from the wire rope holding him place, Tao shuffled into the bathroom for a few minutes, and then into the main room where Yifan had sprawled across one end of the couch. They were both still full from the congee that morning, but Yifan gave Tao a snack anyway.

(“We’re eating already?” Tao had asked him. His groggy eyes had gone wide with surprise when he noticed there was food again.

“Yes, we’re eating already,” Yifan told him. “We’ll eat again later tonight, too.”

Tao looked at him as though he’d sprouted a second head, but he ate anyway. He didn’t attack his snack quite as ferociously as he’d devoured his bowl of congee earlier, but whether that was because he was still full or because he was still tired, Yifan wasn’t sure.)

After Tao had eaten and had a chance to stretch his limbs, Yifan took him back into the bedroom. He attached him to the wire rope again, and waited for him to get settled. The slave didn’t start to drift off to sleep instantly, the way he had that morning, but Yifan could still tell that it wouldn’t be long before he was snoozing. He turned the TV on for him and gave him the remote, and then headed back out of the hotel again.

He bought lunch for himself and Mr. Tang – just quick food that they could eat on the way to the next meeting. Yifan still had a few more hours of work to do before the day would finally be over, and after he finished eating he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.

Joonmyun answered on the third ring. “Kim & Sons Taxidermy, you snuff ‘em, we stuff ‘em.”

“I hope that’s not how you answer all of your business calls,” Yifan greeted dryly.

Joonmyun snorted on the other end of the phone. “Is that what we’ve been reduced to now? Are we making business calls to each other?”

“You wouldn’t be so lucky as to do business with me,” Yifan scoffed. “Are you busy later today?”

“I’m only busy when I want to be busy. That’s the beauty of being self-employed,” he answered. “Why? You want to meet up?”

“I want to do some shopping, if you want to come with me and show me around a little.”

“Definitely,” Joonmyun agreed. “What time do you get out?”

“My last meeting should end around four. Do you want to meet somewhere, or do you want to pick me up?”

“I’ll pick you up.”

Yifan gave Joonmyun the address of the last place he’d be holding a meeting at that afternoon. They chatted for a few more minutes about the usual nonsense that old friends did. Joonmyun had started to wonder about why people were expected to wear different clothes everyday, and yet could get away with wearing the same pair of shoes for months on end; Yifan told him to get a life, and then Mr. Tang was pulling up to the offices of his next appointment.

When his last meeting of the day ended and Yifan stepped out of the building again, it wasn’t Mr. Tang’s sleek, black car that waited for him. It wasn’t even the silver, sporty thing that he’d watched Joonmyun and his slave leave Temple in, his first night in Qingdao. Instead it was a car that was plainer and gray in color, and instead of a driver behind the wheel, Joonmyun himself was leaning against the driver’s side door of the car, twirling a set of car keys around one finger.

“No driver today?” Yifan asked as he approached his friend.

“I try not to bother him too much,” Joonmyun shook his head. “At least, not when I know I’m won’t get too drunk while I’m out.”

“So let me get this straight,” Yifan started, his tone of voice amused. “You pay a guy to be your driver… but you try not to bother him, by asking him to drive you around?”

“I never said it was very logical,” Joonmyun laughed. “Just get in the car! Stop harassing your best friend!”

Yifan shook his head then, making his way around to the passenger side to climb in while Joonmyun got into the driver’s seat and started the car.

“So, what kind of shopping do you want to do?” Joonmyun asked, pulling on his seatbelt.

Yifan took a moment to get his bag settled on the floorboard between his feet. Luckily his cell phone and his wallet fit into his pockets, and the only things in his bag were his laptop and work files; he could leave it in Joonmyun’s car while they shopped, and free up his hands to carry shopping bags. “Clothes, mostly,” he answered.

“I know just the place then,” Joonmyun nodded, and a moment later they were pulling away from the curb.

“You left Kyungsoo behind?” Yifan asked, once he’d gotten settled enough to notice the distinct lack of a slave anywhere in the car.

Joonmyun’s eyes never left the road as he drove, but his posture was relaxed. He seemed familiar enough with the area to be able to concentrate on their conversation instead of what roads they were turning down. “He can be kind of… awkward, sometimes,” he said.

Yifan tilted his head in interest. “Awkward?” he prompted.

Joonmyun paused, but it was more like he was looking for the right words than actually stalling. “It’s mostly just around people he doesn’t know,” he explained. “I’m not sure if maybe it’s because we’re in China… he still doesn’t know very much Mandarin, so I’m hoping that maybe when he starts to learn the language a little more he’ll start to come out of his shell.”

“Was he the same way back when you guys were still in Seoul?” Yifan asked.

“It’s hard to say,” Joonmyun shrugged. “I only had him there for such a short period of time that I don’t have much of anything to reference him by.”

Yifan nodded in understanding.

“He seems to prefer it if he stays home when I’m just running errands or things like that. I might not always let him get away with it, but for now he does.”

Their conversation ebbed and flowed then, as Joonmyun drove them out of the business district of the city and towards the commercial side. They talked about slaves and work and their other mutual friends; the ones still back in Seoul who Joonmyun kept in touch with, and the ones in Guangzhou that he hadn’t.

It wasn’t more than half an hour before they pulled onto a street that was lined with shops and street vendors. Joonmyun parked next to a meter on the sidewalk, and while he got out to pay the meter Yifan took in the street around them. He tried to get a feel for the sort of shops they were close to, which ones looked promising for what he was looking for and which ones didn’t.

“Is there anything you need to get today?” he asked, once Joonmyun had joined him on the sidewalk.

“Nothing specific,” he shook his head. They started walking, bypassing a teashop and one that seemed to be tailored specifically for small children. “But I’m always on the lookout for anything that Kyungsoo would probably look good in.”

“You would be,” Yifan snorted, and they continued walking.

There were some masters who felt that their slaves didn’t need very many things at all. For those people, giving their slaves a place to sleep, food to eat, and an outfit or two to wear was enough. Yifan supposed that was one of many areas where he differed from the general consensus; when it came to his slaves – and especially his pleasure slaves – he liked to spoil.

He’d already decided that Zitao needed a lot of things. Most of them would have to wait until they got back to Guangzhou, simply for the fact that there was only so much room in his suitcase and he didn’t really feel like shipping whatever didn’t fit into it back home. There was also the issue that, hopefully, Tao would be putting some meat on his bones now that he was being fed regularly, and Yifan wasn’t sure what his size would be when he got to a stable weight. For now he would just get him the basics, in a size or two larger than what he was now – but even that list seemed to go on for miles.

When they got to a store that looked promising, Yifan pulled Joonmyun into it and started to browse.

He went over to a table displaying an assortment of jeans and started to look for something that would fit Tao. Length was easy, since he was nearly the same height as Yifan himself; it was width that he wasn’t quite sure about, and he held up two different sizes of the same pair of jeans, trying to figure out which pair would leave the slave some growing room without looking too baggy.

Initially Joonmyun had wandered over to a rack of t-shirts with various offensive slogans on the front. He meandered back over to Yifan then, curious about what his friend had found.

“Uh… Yifan,” he started, his brows furrowing in confusion as he caught sight of the size of jeans his friend was holding up. “I don’t mean to be offensive, but… I’m not really sure those are going to fit you.”

“I know they won’t,” Yifan answered simply. “They’re not for me.”

Joonmyun’s confused expression deepened then. “Who are you shopping for, then?”

Yifan folded one pair of jeans back up, having finally decided on which size seemed like it would fit Tao better. Even if they didn’t, he supposed the worst-case scenario was that he would have to bring them back and exchange them for another size. “Remember when we were having dinner at Temple the other night, and you said I should check out the auction houses here?” he started.

Joonmyun’s confusion faltered for a moment, and then his eyes went wide with understanding. “You didn’t,” he grinned.

Yifan couldn’t stop the smile that edged into the corners of his mouth as he said, “I did.”

Joonmyun seemed to practically vibrate with excitement next to him, as Yifan moved onto another display of lighter colored jeans. “You bought a slave?” he asked, his smile breaking wide across his face. “Seriously? You for real bought one?”

“I’m not fucking with you, I promise,” Yifan chuckled. “I bought a slave.” He grabbed a pair of the lighter jeans in the same size as the first ones he’d picked up and folded them over his arm. There was no such thing as too many pairs of jeans, after all.

“Oh my god, why didn’t you tell me?” Joonmyun asked. “When did you get him? I assume it’s a him,” he said, gesturing to the fact that they were currently browsing through the men’s section of the shop.

“It’s a him,” Yifan nodded. “And I just got him yesterday evening.”

After that, it felt like a game of twenty questions – only Joonmyun was the only person doing the asking, and Yifan was doing all the answering. Yifan moved through the store, grabbing things here and there that struck him and answering as many of Joonmyun’s questions as he could.

What’s his name?

Zitao.

How old is he?

Nineteen.

Is he a pleasure slave?

I hope so.

What’s he look like?

Gorgeous.

Then came the question that Yifan had been dreading.

He’d known it was coming, but he still hadn’t quite figured out how he was going to answer it. They had gone through almost the entire store by then, and Yifan was carrying three pairs of jeans, five t-shirts, and two hoodies. He’d paused in front of a stack of beanie caps in different colors, wondering if he should buy one to stick on Tao’s head for the journey back to Guangzhou and not worry about getting his hair fixed until they were home, when he heard it.

“When can I meet him?” Joonmyun asked.

Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t have been a very troubling question. They were good friends, and of course Joonmyun would want to meet Yifan’s new slave. As it was, though, Yifan paused with his hand hovering over a plain black beanie, his brows furrowing in thought.

“I’m not…” he started, pausing to let out a frustrated huff at his lack of words. “I’m not sure he’s really ready for that,” he finally said.

“What!” Joonmyun said. “Why not?”

“He’s just…” he sighed. “I didn’t find him in very good condition.”

“What kind of condition did you find him in?” Joonmyun asked. Once again Yifan was reminded of why this man was such a good friend. His excitement had all but faded away just then, replaced by concern for a human he’d never even met before. In the world of slaves and masters, it was a rare quality to find.

Yifan grabbed the beanie and added it to his pile. He would feel better if he was able to take Tao to his usual stylist for the slave’s hair… and maybe he kind of thought the hat would look cute on him. “Let me pay, and I’ll tell you about it,” he said.

Joonmyun followed him to the registers then. He’d been so consumed with asking Yifan questions about his new slave that he’d forgotten to look around himself, but that was okay. Knowing Yifan, this was hardly the last shop they were going into that evening, and he would have plenty of places to look around later.

The clerk behind the counter got Yifan’s armful of clothing folded and bagged within minutes, and after he’d let her swipe his credit card and print him a receipt, they turned and headed back out of the store. Yifan waited until they’d walked down the street to a coffee shop, each settling down on opposite sides of a tiny table in the corner with iced coffees in hand, before he started to tell Joonmyun the story.

He told him about how he’d found Zitao at the very end of his journey through the auction house, in the stall where most masters had pawned off their older, less able-bodied slaves. He told him about all the chains he’d had to untangle from his sore limbs, and the bruises and whip marks along his body, and how his bones stuck out in places where they shouldn’t have. Worse than any of the physical things he’d found, though, were the mental issues that had cropped up so far. The slave was constantly suspicious; he had a history of attempting to run away and being combative with his masters; and in the brief time that Yifan had owned him, he’d sensed thick, steel walls of resolve around Tao’s mind, letting nothing slip out and shielding the outside world from coming in.

Yifan didn’t blame Tao for any of it. Even an outstanding slave could be worn down to such a state, if they spent enough time with the wrong sort of masters. It was simply going to take a lot of time and a lot of patience before he was going to be ready for anything that resembled training, or attending any sort of social gathering.

When Yifan was finished, Joonmyun took a sip of his coffee and said, “Well, you always did like a challenge.”

Yifan could only chuckle. “I know,” he said. “But I think that when he cleans up, he’s going to make a really extraordinary slave. I can’t really say what it is that makes me think that… I just have a feeling.”

“Historically, your hunches usually turn out pretty well,” Joonmyun reminded him. There was a small pause while Yifan gave a hum of agreement, and then Joonmyun said, “But I still want to meet him. Even if it’s not an official thing.”

“I don’t know, Joonmyun,” Yifan hedged.

“Oh, come on,” Joonmyun pushed. “Just something casual. Bring him to my house for dinner, just you and me, and Kyungsoo and Zitao. You know I’m not going to judge you if he’s not very well behaved. I’m a damn slave trainer – I deal with that all day long.”

Yifan let out a sigh of defeat. Joonmyun wasn’t going to leave the issue alone until he’d gotten the answer he wanted, so there really wasn’t much use in trying. “I’ll think about it,” he acquiesced.

Joonmyun smiled brightly, then. He had won, and he knew it. Yifan only had a few more days left in Qingdao, and he would meet his friend’s slave before they left.

They finished their coffees, and then moved out onto the sidewalk again to continue shopping. Yifan moved quicker then, anxious to get back to the hotel and check on Tao, and Joonmyun humored his friend. Despite their brisk pace, though, by the time they were finished they’d made their way through four more stores. Yifan had bought two new pairs of shoes, a few more hats, clothes for sleeping and lounging around, and a small army of socks, boxer briefs, and undershirts, all in sizes that he was hoping would fit Tao. They circled back around to the block Joonmyun had parked on, Yifan’s arms full of shopping bags, and got back into his car.

The drive from the commercial streets of Qingda back to his hotel didn’t take very long. Early evening was just beginning to set in the sky when they pulled up to the front entrance, and Yifan was piling back out of Joonmyun’s car again, trying to balance his workbag and various shopping bags without dropping anything. Finally he simply shoved all of the smaller shopping bags into one of the larger ones, and then ducked his head back into Joonmyun’s car.

“Thanks for going with me today,” he said. “I could’ve had Mr. Tang drive me, but I hate shopping by myself.”

“Anytime,” Joonmyun grinned. “Just don’t forget that you still owe me one dinner with a brand new slave.”

“Get out of here,” Yifan shook his head, although there was no genuine disrespect in his tone.

“Get out of my car!” Joonmyun countered.

They said their goodbyes, and after he’d bumped the passenger door of the car shut with his hip, Yifan turned to make his way into the hotel.

It was tricky, trying to slide his keycard out of his wallet and get it into the lock on the door with his arms full of shopping bags. Yifan managed it, though, and once he’d shouldered his way into the room, he finally dropped all the bags on the dining table. He took a few moments to shrug out of his suit jacket and kick off his shoes, and then headed into the bedroom.

Zitao was sitting up on his bedroll this time, although the droop to his eyes led Yifan to believe he hadn’t been awake for very long. He was wrapped up in a cocoon of blankets, with only his face and half the remote control peeking out. Every few seconds the remote control would twitch, coinciding with the channel on the TV changing, and Tao’s eyes never left the screen, his attention absorbed in every channel he went through.

Yifan stood in the doorway of the room for a long moment, watching the way Tao interacted with his environment when he didn’t know he was being watched. He didn’t know how many of these moments he was going to get over the next few months, and so he figured he may as well take full advantage of them when they came. After a little while, though, he couldn’t really excuse it anymore. Yifan cleared his throat, and Tao let out a startled gasp before his blanket mound toppled to the side.

“Sorry,” Yifan chuckled as he stepped further into the room. “Did I startle you?”

Tao righted himself quickly, pushing half of his blanket pile to the side in order to crane his neck over the top of the bed. He watched his master’s movements now instead of the TV, and if Yifan wasn’t mistaken, the expression on his face was almost something like indignant. “No, you did not startle me,” Tao insisted. “There was a show about ghosts on before you came in. I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be in the room, that was all.”

“Oh, okay,” Yifan said, although it was clear from his grin that he didn’t quite believe him.

Tao let out a huff.

“Did you find anything you like?” Yifan asked. He’d stopped in front of the dresser and started to undo the buttons of his shirt. In the reflection of the mirror that hung just over the dresser, he could see the bed – and the very top of Zitao’s head peeking over it, where his slave was watching him. He let his eyes meet Tao’s in the mirror for a brief moment, and then brought them up to his own reflection in the mirror as he shrugged off his shirt.

There was a small pause before Tao answered, when he finally said, “I don’t know. I just watched a little bit of everything.”

There were questions that Yifan wanted to ask then. He wanted to ask when the last time Tao had watched TV was – or if he’d ever seen it before in his life. That led into a whole slew of other questions as well. Had Tao been born into slavery, raised by a group of caretakers along with the other children of the household his age? Or had he grown up as a free man’s child, with parents to tuck him in at night? Who had his first master been, and what role had he been assigned in that household? Most of them were things he could read about in the slave’s file at some point, but it was one thing to read a slave’s history and to hear it from them firsthand.

Somehow, though, Yifan didn’t think Tao would appreciate him prying into his past just yet. He would answer Yifan’s questions, if only to keep himself from being punished, but only just barely. For the time being, Yifan decided he would keep his questions to himself. He would wait until Tao was more likely to tell him the story willingly.

“Well, don’t watch too many ghost shows,” he finally said, the barest hint of teasing in his tone. “Or we’ll have to start sleeping with a night light.”

As quickly as he’d scrambled up to watch Yifan, Tao disappeared from the edge of the bed.

Yifan grinned, and continued the task of undressing himself. He kept his undershirt on and changed out of the navy blue slacks he’d worn, into the same pair of cotton sleep pants from the previous night. Once he’d gotten his clothes folded up and stacked neatly back in his suitcase, he grabbed the key to Tao’s tether and went to unlock him.

“You can use the bathroom, if you need to,” he said. “I’ll go order dinner.”

Tao waited for Yifan to leave the room before he started to climb out of his nest of blankets, and then squinted at the pile of them that he left behind. He wasn’t sure how long it would be before he was back on the bedroll again. It was early evening already, and there wasn’t that much time left in the day before it would be time to go to bed again. After a moment of internal debate, Tao finally decided it was better safe than sorry and started to fold the blankets back into a neat pile.

Once he’d stacked them up next to the bedroll, and was satisfied that he was leaving his area as neatly as possible, Tao followed his master out of the room. He made a pit stop in the bathroom long enough to relieve himself, and when he came back out into the main room, Yifan was standing at the dining table pulling things out of shopping bags.

When it came to things his masters had bought, Tao generally didn’t pay very much attention. It was rare for their shopping trips to involve him, and when they did, his masters would let him know when he needed to. Yifan hadn’t given him any specific directions, though. He hadn’t told Tao where he was supposed to kneel, or what he was supposed to do; the slave wasn’t sure if this was a situation where he was supposed to be as invisible as possible, not bringing any excess attention to his presence, or if Yifan wanted him nearby. He swallowed nervously, and hovered somewhere near the middle of the room.

After a few minutes, Yifan seemed to notice him in the room. He glanced over his shoulder to give Tao a curious look, and then gestured for him to come closer.

Tao stepped closer to the table then, and realized that Yifan was pulling clothing out of the bags.

“I went shopping this afternoon,” he started to explain, folding each item of clothing as he pulled them out and making a stack on the table. So far Tao could see a few pairs of jeans, in varying shades of blue and black, several t-shirts, and some hoodies. “Usually I would get everything washed before you wore any of it, but you know. Sometimes you have to make do with what you have.” With that, Yifan took one of the darker pairs of jeans and a white t-shirt and held them out for Tao. “Try these ones on.”

Tao looked at the clothes being offered to him with the same sort of expression that he’d given his bedding the night before. Suspicious, and somewhat fearful, as though something dreadful were going to pop out of them at any given moment. A beat passed, and when nothing disastrous happened, he took the clothes and turned his attention on his master. “You want me to try them on?” he asked.

“Well, of course,” Yifan said. “We have to make sure they’re the right size. I mean, we have until the end of the week to take them back if they don’t fit well, but I figured the sooner we do it the better.”

Understanding dawned on Tao then, and his eyes went wide as glanced at the stack of clothing on the table. “These… are mine?” he asked.

“Of course they’re yours,” Yifan nodded.

Tao knew then that this was quite possibly the strangest master he’d ever had. Yifan had given him food, let him sleep all day, and now he was giving him brand new clothes. He hadn’t tried to take anything from Tao in return – not even just to touch him or sleep next to him. Even when he’d had Tao completely bare in the bathtub, he’d only touched him long enough to wash him. It had never turned sexual or erotic, and when Tao had been snarky and sarcastic with him in return, Yifan hadn’t hit him or beaten him.

The experience was altogether confusing. It went against everything Tao had learned about masters, and what he’d come to expect from them. He couldn’t figure out what Yifan wanted from him yet, and that was perhaps the part that made him the most uneasy. He knew how to handle himself when it came to masters to tried to fuck him, and beat him when he wouldn’t let them. Yifan seemed to be playing an entirely different game, though, and Tao had no idea what the rules were.

There wasn’t much he could do about it. He was along for the ride whether he liked it or not, and he steeled himself with the thought that whatever Yifan had in mind, he could handle it. He would do exactly what he’d always done; he would fight him tooth and nail if his master tried to touch him, and when the right opportunity came to him, he would escape. And this time, he wasn’t going to get caught.

Tao turned and headed back into the bathroom. He would try the clothes on, but he wouldn’t turn it into an opportunity for his master to ogle him. He shut the door tightly behind himself and started to undress.

It only took him a few moments to pull off the clothing Yifan had let him borrow and fold them up neatly on the countertop. He tugged the new clothes on, and then took a few minutes to look himself over in the mirror.

The new clothes weren’t as baggy on him as Yifan’s clothes had been, although they were still looser than something that really fit him would’ve been. Tao wasn’t sure that he’d ever worn a shirt as brightly white as this one, or jeans that had been distressed in places for style instead of from general wear and tear. As much as he didn’t trust Yifan’s intentions for giving them to him… he had to admit that they looked good.

Tao knew his master wasn’t going to let him stay in the bathroom all night looking at himself, though. After a few more minutes and turning this way and that in the mirror, peering at every angle of his new outfit, he stepped out into the main room again.

By then, Yifan had gotten everything out of the bags. There were now three stacks on the table – one of jeans and t-shirts that Tao could wear if they went out of the hotel suite, one of sleep pants and looser shirts that would be more comfortable for him to wear inside the hotel, and a third stack of undershirts and socks and accessories. The two cardboard shoeboxes were there as well, and Yifan was halfway through folding up the shopping bags when he heard Tao come into the room.

He turned around to see how the outfit looked, and couldn’t help but smile. “They look good on you,” he said, setting the shopping bag in his hands down as he leaned back against the table. And that was certainly true; he could see that the clothes were still loose in places where Tao could stand to fill out, but they didn’t hang off his body the way his own clothes had. The colors went well together too, and something about the whole ensemble just looked good on the slave. “Are they comfortable?”

Tao simply nodded. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with his arms just then, and after letting them waver next to his sides for a moment, he finally just crossed them over his chest.

“Do you want to try on some of the others?” Yifan asked. He’d bought everything in the same size, and if the outfit Tao had on fit fairly well, then the rest of it would too. Just because they were going to fit, though, didn’t mean it wouldn’t be fun to see what everything looked like on him.

Tao furrowed his brow for a moment. He hadn’t ever really been one for changing clothes very often before. The interim between taking one set of clothing off and getting another one had always felt too vulnerable to him, and he hadn’t exactly had many outfits to choose from in the past. But the set of clothes he had on just then looked so nice, and as Tao looked over the stacks of clothing on the table next to Yifan, he came to the sudden realization.

He had choices.

He had things he could pick from. And it wasn’t simply picking which one looked the least offensive on him. They were things that were clean and somewhat well fitted; they had been bought specifically with him in mind, and he was curious to know if the others would look as good on him as his current outfit did.

Tao nodded.

He came closer to the table when Yifan gestured for him, and glanced from the stacks of t-shirts and jeans up to his master. “Which one should I try?” he asked.

Yifan shrugged, a smile tilting at the corners of his lips. “Whichever ones you want to,” he said.

Tao looked back at the stacks in front of him, and let his hands hover over them for a minute. After a moment he grabbed a pair of black jeans and a bright red V-neck shirt, and turned to shuffle back into the bathroom.

If it were possible, he liked that outfit even better than the dark wash jeans and the white shirt. He spent even longer looking at himself in the mirror then than he had with the first outfit, and by the time he came out into the main room again, Yifan had gotten rid of all the shopping bags. He let Yifan see the outfit as well, and then grabbed the light pair of jeans and a teal green shirt.

Yifan puttered around the main room of the hotel suite while his slave had a small fashion show, watching him travel back and forth from the bathroom to the dining table countless times. Tao tried on endless combinations of his shirts and jeans; the white shirt went almost as good with the black jeans as the red shirt had, and a gray t-shirt went with the dark jeans just as good as the white shirt had. That was all before he realized he had hats to accessorize the outfits with, and then it seemed like the entire process started over again.

Halfway through, the food he’d ordered showed up. Yifan took the tray of room service while Tao was still in the bathroom changing and got everything set up on the coffee table. The dining table was currently covered in clothes, and he didn’t feel much like eating formally that night anyway.

When Tao emerged from the bathroom (in the black jeans again, the gray t-shirt, and with the beanie covering his hair – which was exactly as cute on him as Yifan had suspected it would be) Yifan was sprawled out on one corner of the couch. There was food spread out along the coffee table, and Yifan gestured for him to come closer when he noticed him in the room. Only this time, he didn’t hold his hand the way he usually did when he gestured for Tao. Instead of using two fingers to point to the spot where he wanted Tao to kneel, he pointed with his index and his thumb to indicate the floor just next to his feet.

“Don’t kneel this time,” Yifan said. “Just sit.”

Hand signals, Tao realized. Yifan was teaching him hand signals. Two fingers meant kneel. Index and thumb meant sit. Part of him recoiled at the idea that Yifan was expecting him to obey his commands already, and the other part was just relieved to be getting some sort of direction. A part of him that was even larger than those two wanted to know if he would get to eat again, and so he went to the spot he’d been designated and sat down.

“I like this on you,” Yifan said, tugging at the edge of the beanie where it rested near the nape of Tao’s neck. A moment later he nudged a few of the bowls of food on the table towards the slave. “Those are yours. You can eat.”

Tao glanced at Yifan briefly – not entirely sure how to react to the compliment – and took his bowl of food.

They ate much the same way they’d eaten breakfast. Yifan had turned the TV onto the news again, and his attention was split between trying to listen to the latest on the economy and watching Tao as he slurped up his noodles. Tao’s attention was completely absorbed in his food, and he hadn’t been holding his bowl for more than ten minutes before it was completely empty again. He set it back down on the coffee table and leaned back against the couch behind him.

He still had a long way to go, Yifan knew. He was still thin and bruised in a way that only time was going to help – but the new clothes had helped. Yifan wasn’t sure if it was something about the clothes themselves; if their newness had lent Tao’s appearance a helping hand, or perhaps the better fit had masked some of his boniness. Or maybe it was something else entirely. Maybe it was more about the way Tao had taken to the task of trying on all his clothes with something like enjoyment, forgetting to be wary of Yifan for a short while as he mixed and matched all the various combinations possible.

Yifan ate another bite of his food then, and thought about Joonmyun’s offer. He still had to take some time to really think it over, and he certainly wasn’t going to decide one way or another tonight. But watching Tao just then made him wonder, and had given him plenty of food for thought. Perhaps Joonmyun was right; maybe a night out of the hotel suite with a casual meal and a few close friends really wouldn’t do him any harm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this fic is unbeta'd, and all mistakes are mine. Constructive criticism/critique is more than welcome in the comments.
> 
> 1\. Guys! I am so, so sorry this chapter took so long! I was writing it, thinking "Surely the end is coming here soon… right?" And it just kept getting longer… and longer… and longer… after I'd finally written the whole damn thing and gotten it edited, so much time had passed. I hope the results are worth the wait!
> 
> 2\. I'm freaking out over the response this has gotten so far. I know that the stats this fic currently has may not seem like much to every author, but seriously, every piece of feedback I get means so much to me. Thank you guys for all the kudos, comments, and page views I've gotten so far!
> 
> 3\. Stick with me, guys… chapter five is on its way!


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